


The Hidden Tower

by Lampsprite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lampsprite/pseuds/Lampsprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, the only place Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy can get on without coming to blows (at least most of the time) is at the top of a tower, hidden deep within Hogwarts.  Or the one in which magic has a way of getting people to come together, whether they like it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How to Save a Life

“It is a great honor to be called upon by the Dark Lord, Draco. Remember what I have taught you.”

Draco nodded, tightening his lips and releasing a long breath through his nose. It wouldn’t do to shake with fear while in the Dark Lord’s presence.

His father squeezed his shoulders, his dragon-hide gloves crackling in the silence. Then the doors in front of them opened to one of the more opulent of Malfoy Mansion’s lounge rooms. Draco stepped past the threshold, his head held high. He could only see the back of a large chair that sat in front of the large, intricately carved marble fireplace, but Draco was in no doubt of who occupied it. His fingers clenched into a fist behind his back as he waited to be acknowledged.

“Young Draco.” The sibilant voice floated about the room as if bodiless, and a swath of goose-pimples rose across Draco’s skin.

His father tapped him on the back and Draco remembered himself, bowing down on one knee and erasing any emotion from his features. “My Lord.”

The chair rotated and Draco kept his eyes down, both as a sign of respect and because he didn’t think he could bear to look at that face without giving something away.

The Dark Lord laughed, a high, piercing thing that cut through Draco’s ear canals and made him wince. “Lucius has taught you well, young Malfoy, but I require you to look at me.”

Draco obeyed without hesitation and stared back at glowing red eyes.

“Good,” the Dark Lord smiled, revealing gleaming reptilian teeth. He seemed to regard him from the inside out. Draco was careful not to block him from his thoughts, imagining the glassy surface of a lake to keep his mind calm. “You may be of some use to me yet. Be prepared for my summons in future.”

Draco nodded, holding his breath, and bowed again. “My Lord.”

The moment Draco exited the room and the doors clicked closed behind him, he could feel the sweat cooling unpleasantly on his skin beneath his coat. A shiver ran up his spine and he took a shaky breath.

“You have done well, Draco,” his father commended, a hint of pride lacing his tone. “The Dark Lord favors you.”

Draco knew he should feel a modicum of pride as well, but all he felt was the sick knot of revulsion tightening in his stomach.

He entered his bedroom alone and fell back upon his mattress, staring unseeingly up at the vaulted ceiling while his heart raced in his chest. He felt no different than the flightless peacocks roaming the gardens of Malfoy Manor, privileged with opulence, but ultimately trapped. 

All he could do now was survive.

 

* * *

 

“And Malfoy spies the Snitch!”

The crowd roared, and Harry whipped his head round to spot Malfoy plummeting after something on the other side of the pitch.

"Crap," he cursed and raced in that direction, daring his broom to go faster than it ever had before.

It was cutting it close, of course it was, but he refused to lose to Malfoy. Not this time. Not ever.

Malfoy’s hand shot out and Harry grit his teeth. The git was reaching out, his fingers extended, but Harry was still too far away to confirm it was the snitch and not a fake out. Adrenalin pumping through his veins, he flattened himself onto his broom handle to go faster, but then he caught the glint of gold hovering at the edge of Malfoy’s fingertips and his hope plummeted.   Malfoy was grasping for the winged ball with a single-minded determination, his arm stretching precariously as he struggled to keep his broom level in the wind.

In that moment, Harry was horrifyingly certain that Malfoy would capture the snitch and win the game for Slytherin. Then something large and brown whipped across the horizon and collided with Malfoy's head. Harry tensed in shock at the sound it made, a sharp crack followed by a gasp from the crowd below, as Malfoy's body went limp, flung from his broom and into the sky like a puppet who's strings had been cut. Harry traced Malfoy's plummet, wide eyed, the Slytherin's body picking up speed as he fell unhindered toward the earth. Many in the stands below stood up with a spate of horrified screams, but no one was doing anything. No one was even close enough in the air, except for --

There was only a split second's hesitation before Harry tucked in and willed his broom fast enough.

He plummeted after Malfoy's green cloak, wind whipping through his hair and burning his watery eyes behind his glasses. The wind resistance made him slow but he flattened himself further against his broom to lessen the friction, and he reached his hand out, half-blind and straining.

The earth rushed toward him, but his fingers grasped cloth and he tugged, nearly losing balance on his broom in an attempt to swoop upward. He strained with the new weight practically pulling his shoulder out of its socket. It was painful and he roared with the effort, but he was still losing altitude. Wind whipped in his face and nearly blinded him as the ground rushed up to meet him too quick for comfort. He pulled at his broom handle with all his might in a last ditch effort, relief flooding him as he just managed to gain some height. But just as he thought the bulk of the danger had passed, the green cape in his fist caught on something and pulled him off his broom. He flipped over and hit solid earth with his back with such violence that he nearly blacked out, all of the air forced out of his lungs.

He gasped, cold air hitting his lungs like shards of glass, and groaned, blearily staring up at the iron-gray sky with fuzzy vision. He blinked and realized his glasses were no longer sitting on his nose. So he probably wasn't going blind, or more blind, as the case may be. He turned to the side with a grunt and spotted his hand, still twisted painfully around Malfoy’s cape. A mound that should be Malfoy lay just beyond that. He wheezed in breath, staring at the lump blearily, until his chest opened up and the blackness at the edges of his vision receded.

People were shouting. Quidditch players were dropping from the sky and landing in the soil all around him, but Harry couldn't stop staring at the still Malfoy shaped mound beside him.

"Come on, you prat," he coughed. "Move."

Of course the tosser didn't listen to him. He refused to think it was because Malfoy couldn't hear him. He was just being a stubborn arse, making Harry worry about his well-being, probably delighting in it even, the wanker. Harry stared at him stupidly for a moment, well, glared at him, before he pushed himself up onto his elbows and crawled the scant inches over to him. He looked down at Malfoy's slightly less out of focus face and found the pulse point beneath his jaw with his thumb. Harry felt a heart beat flutter beneath his touch and let out a breath just before shadows fell over them both and someone gripped his shoulder from behind.

“Are you two in one piece?”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder to see Madam Hooch, Snape, and McGonagall standing over him. The Quidditch players of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams stood a bit further away, shifting their weight anxiously. Madam Hooch's face looked pinched, and Snape knelt beside Malfoy, roughly pulling Harry's hand away by the wrist and replacing it beneath Malfoy's jaw with his own. Harry sat back, irritable, but Snape wasn't even looking at him. Harry looked up at McGonagall instead.

Harry remembered they'd asked him something. “I’m fine, but Malfoy’s unconscious.”

The burly Slytherin captain shoved through the pack of onlookers, looking fit to kill.

“I demand punishment against Gryffindor for their egregious foul!” He roared, spit flying from his mouth. “That bludger almost killed my seeker!”

The Gryffindor players bristled. Especially Ron, who was nearly frothing at the mouth, but Ginny had the sense to hold him back with a firm grip on his upper arm. “It’s not our fault you Slytherin ponces can’t defend your players worth bugger all!”

“Contain yourselves, both of you!” Madam Hooch snapped, and both boys glowered at each other but reluctantly stood down, the tension between the rival teams crackled in the air and Harry would have probably added to it, but he was too exhausted. “Gryffindor’s use of the bludger was perfectly within the rules.”

The Gryffindors murmured their approval and many of the Slytherins moved to protest, but Madam Hooch raised her voice. “The match is suspended. I will take Mr. Malfoy to the Hospital Wing and Madame Pomfrey will be having a look at you too, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded and tested the strength of his legs, but a few hands grasped him beneath the armpits and lifted him into a standing position. He looked back at Ron and Dean and nodded his thanks.

“Nice save, Captain.” Dean smiled, but Ron scowled at him.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” He exclaimed. “Did you forget your wand?" 

"What?"

"Pointy stick, shoots sparks," Ron continued, his tone drier than Hermione's. Harry stared at him blankly, his thoughts slower than they should be, like his brain had been dipped in molasses. Ron scoffed. "You're a wizard, Harry! You could've used magic!"

Harry frowned and then winced, the wand in his robe pocket now horribly obvious with the way it jabbed into his side. "Right." 

"You nearly offed it in the most muggle way possible and all to save _Malfoy_!" Ron whinged. "You’re mental. We ought to cart you off to the Janus Thickey ward.”

“I’m not mental,” Harry retorted and pushed a trembling hand through his hair, the aftermath of the adrenaline pumping through his veins making him shaky and lightheaded.

“Just lost the plot,” Ron agreed, his voice wobbling a bit. “No one’s life is worth one of Malfoy’s.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry huffed, but Ron was right. He felt like an idiot. The remaining strength in his limbs nearly left him as he watched Madam Hooch levitate Malfoy’s limp body into the air. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ron cuffed him on the side of the head with a grin of his own. “We all know you’ve that saving-people-thing. I just didn’t know it extended to sacrificing yourself for ferrety-prats.”

“Next thing you know, he’ll be saving You-Know-Who,” Seamus quipped with a grin as he and Hermione popped in between Ron and Dean.

“Oh, Harry, are you all right? I thought for sure when you and Malfoy hit the ground that you wouldn’t get up again,” Hermione stated with concern, pressing a hand onto the side of his cheek before pulling it back to gaze at the blood on her fingertips. “I'd thought my cushioning charm was strong enough but then Malfoy - oh, you’re bleeding.”

Harry gingerly pressed his fingers against the cut on his cheek. It felt shallow, but left blood on his fingertips as well. “I don’t think it’s too bad. It doesn’t hurt.” Then he forgot about it when he realized what she'd said. "Cushioning charm?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I'd cast one just before you'd hit the ground. Although obviously, it hadn't been strong enough."

Harry remembered how much easier it had been to pull his broom upward just before he'd crashed and he felt even worse. He really hadn't thought that through. "Thanks, Hermione."

He could see the beginnings of her exasperation, which would inevitably lead to a lecture, but McGonagall chose that moment to address him.

“Off to Madam Pomfrey with you, Mr. Potter. You gave us all quite a fright,” McGonagall stated sternly, but then her voice lowered and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Twenty points to Gryffindor for saving a fellow student’s life.”

“Er…thank you, Professor.” Harry nodded, embarrassed. He hadn’t even planned on saving Malfoy’s life. He’d only acted on instinct, and nearly got them both killed in the process.

She smiled tightly at him as if she knew exactly what was rolling around in his head, but she didn't elaborate. She only waved him in the direction of Madam Hooch. The Quidditch coach was walking toward the castle, levitating Malfoy’s prone form behind her as Snape took up the rear.

Despite Harry’s protests that he was perfectly fine, Madam Pomfrey set him up in a bed and ordered him to stay the night so that the healing potions she had forced him to swallow would do their work on any internal injuries she might have missed.

He found himself in a bed beside Malfoy, who was still unconscious even as the clock struck midnight and the lamp light dimmed. Harry absently watched Malfoy’s unmoving, pointed profile in the dim light for a long time until his eyelids became heavy with sleep, and fatigue overtook him.

He dreamed of falling through the air in a snow storm, a familiar blond-haired boy watching him disinterestedly from atop a high tower as the ground transformed into a silver dragon with glowing green eyes and swooped up to swallow him whole.

When he awoke the next morning, Harry had forgotten the dream but shook his head of an unsettling feeling before wiping at the sleep in his eyes. He reached for his glasses and put them on, searching around the room. He momentarily forgot where he was until his gaze caught upon Malfoy who was still sleeping in the bed beside his, although he had apparently moved onto his side during the night.

Harry sat up, no longer aching anywhere, and Madam Pomfrey bustled in. She wasted no time in pulling out her wand to scan him.

“Well, I suppose you’re fit to go, Mr. Potter,” she stated brusquely when she was done. “I don’t want to see you in here after the next match. Quidditch is a ghastly sport.”

Harry nodded, not wanting to debate Madam Pomfrey over the merits of the game, and she moved over to scan Malfoy. Harry slipped out of bed, still in the underclothes of his Quidditch uniform. He spared one last glance at Madam Pomfrey and Malfoy before picking up the rest of his uniform, which had been draped across a chair, and taking his leave.

When he made it back to the Gryffindor common room, he found Ron playing a round of Wizarding chess against himself and Hermione curled beside him on the couch, her nose buried in a massive tome. Both of them greeted him warmly when he plopped down beside them in a crimson chintz chair. Predictably, Ron asked him with a hopeful expression if Malfoy had managed to die in his sleep, but Harry only smiled and shook his head. Hermione sent Ron an exasperated look, but Ron grinned at her goofily and her hard expression melted into a blush. Harry rolled his eyes, having witnessed enough of his best mates’ mooning ever since they had finally seen sense the summer previous and confessed their feelings to one another.

“But now because of the ferrety-git, we have to hold a rematch,” Ron informed Harry when he managed to pull his infatuated attention away from Hermione.

Harry wanted to point out that it wasn’t exactly Malfoy’s fault that the match had ended abruptly, but he promptly bit his tongue. It was no use arguing with Ron about Malfoy, and it was not as if Harry had much reason to defend the arrogant Slytherin anyway.

“When is it?” Harry asked, mentally checking through his schedule for the near future, thinking of when he could fit in practices for the team.

“In a month,” Ron replied a bit bitterly. “We’d better think up some new tactics. The Slytherins know all the ones we have now.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll count on you for that.”

“Of course.” Ron grinned as he used his thumb to stroke a struggling rook chess piece in one of his hands.

“We’ll have to practice on weekends as well then,” Harry concluded.

Ron nodded and smiled. “We’ll beat those Slytherins into the ground.”

Hermione merely rolled her eyes and turned a page in her book.

Due to the fact that it was still early in their sixth year, Hermione had not yet confined them to studying in the library for their year-end exams. So Harry joined Ron’s chess game as Hermione buried herself deeper in her reading. The common room filled up with other Gryffindors spending a leisurely Sunday studying or chatting with friends. Occasionally, old DA-hands like Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Ginny would greet them on their way out of the tower, and Harry, Ron and Hermione would smile back. As the hours wiled away, Harry was completely content.

Malfoy didn’t even cross Harry’s mind until dinner rolled around and he absently noted, with a small twinge of concern, that the boy was not present in the Great Hall. He shook his head against the very idea of worrying over Draco Malfoy and then promptly forgot about it, shoving some sherpherd’s pie into his mouth and listening with amused interest to Seamus’s story about the last time he’d visited Dean’s house in muggle Manchester and had used all his strange muggle appliances to disastrous effect.          

The next morning, Harry was surprised to find himself marginally relieved when Malfoy entered the Great Hall for breakfast, the boy’s head held high with arrogant smirk in place. Although that good feeling dissipated rapidly the moment he entered the dungeons with Ron and Hermione for their potions lesson, greeted by half a room full of scowling Slytherins. Hermione quickly made her way to her seat and started pulling out her supplies, clearly not wanting to get involved, but Ron remained standing beside Harry, glowering fiercely.

“Look who the trolls dragged in,” Blaise sneered.

Seamus and Dean entered the classroom just at that moment, and Seamus grinned. “What’s the matter dungeon-dwellers, unwilling to thank our knight in shining armor for saving your damsel in distress?”

It took a while for Harry to realize Seamus was referring to him and Malfoy, but Malfoy appeared to have understood the comparison right away, because he scowled in response, his glare glimmering amidst a crowd of mutinous looking Slytherins.

“I was hardly in distress, Finnigan,” Malfoy sneered pompously. “In fact, I was just about to catch the Snitch, before you and your muggle-loving friends brutishly knocked me off my broom.”

Ron growled in disbelief. “You were falling from at least fifty meters in the air, Malfoy. You would have died if you’d hit the ground from that height. I’d call that distress! And if you Slytherins can’t handle blocking a bludger during a Quidditch match, then you deserved what you got!”

“Overconfident, aren’t we, Weasel?” Malfoy’s cold gaze slid toward Ron. “You just don’t fancy the fact that I would have beaten your precious Potter if you hadn’t resorted to unsavory tactics.”

“In your dreams, ferret!” Ron retorted heatedly. “Harry would have beaten you with his hands tied behind his back with or without our help, right Harry?”

Everyone’s eyes turned toward Harry, including Draco Malfoy’s, and Harry bristled at Malfoy’s pinched look of distaste. However, a memory of Malfoy’s finger tips brushing the golden snitch skittered through his mind, and he replied without thinking, much to his best mate’s detriment. “Actually, I think Malfoy would have caught it.”

Ron stiffened in shock and even some of the Slytherins’ eyes went wide. Malfoy’s glare softened into an expression of slight surprise, and he eyed Harry suspiciously. He didn’t seem to know how to respond. So he kept his mouth shut.

Harry belatedly realized the error of his words, and he sent Ron an apologetic look, but that didn't stop Ron from looking at him as though he had betrayed his sister to Voldemort.

Harry moved to correct the damage, and he sent a hard look in Malfoy’s direction for good measure, but even he knew his timing was a bit lame. “But next time, you can be sure, I won’t let you capture the Snitch, Malfoy!”

“Spoken like a true captain of Gryffindor,” Dean muttered, and Harry had a hard time figuring out if that was meant to be a compliment.

Malfoy stared at him with that calculating gaze, before smirking. “Rest assured, I’ll beat you, Potter, and when you inevitably fall off your broom I won’t be swooping in to save you.”

Harry scowled as the Slytherins laughed, but he wasn’t given the chance to retort when Snape finally stalked in and the remaining stragglers scrambled to their seats.

The rest of the lesson passed by uneventfully, except for the moments in which Ron sent Harry betrayed looks while he mashed their carefully measured serving of beetle eyes. Hermione rolled her eyes at her boyfriend exasperatedly from her seat beside Neville behind them.          

As the following weeks passed, tension between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses rose. Scuffles occurred regularly in the halls and, once, a particularly heated argument between two third year girls disrupted a lesson and Professor McGonagall was forced to put both participants in detention for a month with a penalty of fifty points from each house.

After that, the fights still occurred, but they were consciously kept hidden from the professors. This led to an outbreak of anonymous pranks, where neither side could quite pin down who the guilty party was so neither house could be properly punished for the crime. Every day the Great Hall was filled with tales of a Gryffindor girl’s hair turning blue or a Slytherin boy’s book bag exploding with a shower of fireworks from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Filch seemed to be beside himself; at one point, running through the halls and screaming ‘off with their heads!’ at the top of his lungs.    

Harry, as planned, was running the Gryffindor team through the ground. He and Ron shared a smirk when the Slytherin team had failed to book the pitch before Gryffindor for the same prime weekend time-slots.

Harry had expected Malfoy to milk the tension for all it was worth and taunt Harry and his teammates anytime they happened to be in the vicinity, but instead the boy ignored him in every lesson and in the halls – acting as if nothing of any importance was occurring between their two houses. Harry found it all irritating and confusing, suspicious that Malfoy was up to something, but he forced himself not to think on it too much as the rest of the school population, including members of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses, frothed with the competitive spirit.

The only other person who seemed unaffected by the goings-on was Hermione, which she handily demonstrated by pulling Harry aside one day after Transfiguration and asking him to start up the DA again.

“I’m kind of busy, Hermione,” Harry muttered, feeling tired just thinking about the DA, much less working on it now that he had the fortunes of Gryffindor House resting upon his shoulders.

“I know, Harry, but…” Hermione began, and Harry tensed up at the determined look in her eyes. “Our instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts is lacking this year, and I’ve already been approached by Ginny, Luna, Zacharias Smith and a couple of Ravenclaws, asking when the DA is going to be restarted.”

Harry had to agree that their DADA instruction this year was less than spectacular, given that Dumbledore had yet to find a professor to fill the role. He supposed that word of the position’s curse had finally spread enough throughout the wizarding world to properly discourage any would-be applicants. But at the same time, he really didn’t want to be responsible for providing that instruction himself. Even though the DA had been a relative success last year, it was still tainted for him by what had happened with Umbridge. He still didn’t quite see himself as qualified to teach Defense, given what had happened at the Department of Mysteries either.

He didn’t want to deal with any of that this year.

Harry shook his head. “I can’t, Hermione. Maybe you can find someone else.”

“Who else?” Hermione questioned. “No other student has fought against You-Kno…V-Voldemort, but you. That makes you the most qualified for the position until Dumbledore can find a replacement.”

“Hermione…”

“Harry, please,” Hermione interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder as she clutched a stack of books against her chest with the other. “At least think about it.”

Harry stared at her, trying to think of a way out of it. He relented only when no route for escape became readily apparent. “All right. I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Hermione replied, and she smiled. “That’s all I can ask for.”

Then she left for the library. Harry could only watch her retreating back with a shake of his head. He didn’t even want to think about the DA, but he’d promised. Although, he was certain his answer would be the same the next time she asked. He’d acquired enough responsibilities as Quidditch captain to be getting on with, and that was something he actually enjoyed worrying about.

Much to his dismay, however, that night he awoke for the first time since the end of last year to his scar burning and someone screaming for mercy in his head. He was sweating and shaking as he sat up in his four-poster, his heart beating wildly in his chest, before he could calm himself enough to lie back down and close his eyes, wishing for sleep. He finally fell into a restless sleep hours later.

The next morning at breakfast, he was absolutely exhausted, and he’d made the mistake of telling Hermione and Ron about his nightmare after she’d showed them an article in that morning’s Daily Prophet about Death Eater activity in Norfolk. Hermione had given Harry a long, hard look of concern, before she had gotten Ron in on nagging him about the DA. Harry had scowled at Ron for his betrayal before he eventually complied, just to get them both off his back. Obviously not feeling sorry for Harry’s plight in the slightest, Hermione promptly agreed to inform the masses of the DA’s imminent re-opening and she tasked Harry with making sure that the Room of Requirement was still serviceable for the club.

That was how Harry found himself in the Seventh Floor corridor, standing in front of the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy teaching trolls ballet, and staring at the invisible door to the Room of Requirement. It was the middle of the night, so Harry was wrapped in his invisibility cloak.

He tried to think of what he should wish for when he walked three times in front of the door. The first vague thought that popped into his sleep-deprived head was that he needed something for Defense, and that was the thought he clung to as he walked back and forth three times.

The moment Harry stopped pacing, an old wooden door appeared in the stone wall. He had never seen a door like this before, and as he stepped closer he could just make out torchlight flickering through the cracks in the wood. Curiosity piqued, Harry pushed and the door swung open with an un-oiled creak. A stone spiral staircase climbing up a narrow passage was revealed beyond it.

Harry stepped cautiously onto the first step, noting the grid-iron torches bolted into the stone walls every few meters. Just then, a cold breeze swept down from above and the torch flames flickered violently. It felt like he was outside and not in a room deep inside the castle, but Harry stared up where the breeze originated and he couldn’t see an opening at the end.

Closing the wooden door behind him, Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak and made his way up the steps. The stairs wound up into a spiral about three times before Harry could see an end to them, and it wasn’t long before he stepped out into a small pentagonal room, each wall sporting an open archway. Harry’s eyes widened and he walked toward one of the archways to look out at the view beyond. It looked like the grounds of Hogwarts far below, as if he was in a real tower with the outdoor winds swirling around him.

Just then something pressed against his neck and he stiffened in alarm.

“Tell me what you’re doing here, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes widened, recognizing that voice anywhere, and realizing quite quickly that it was Malfoy’s wand digging into his neck as the boy stood behind him. “Malfoy?”

“Obviously,” the boy drawled exasperatedly. “Now answer me, Potter.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Harry asked instead, and he managed to turn his head just enough so that he could see Malfoy scowling at him.

“I asked first,” Malfoy snapped, and the tip of his wand dug a little further into the flesh of Harry’s throat.

Harry bit his lip, wondering if he could get his wand out in time to hex Malfoy before the boy hexed him, but he quickly realized that logistically wasn’t possible. He admonished himself for letting his guard down in the first place. “I’m looking for the right room.”

“Well, as you can see, this is the wrong one,” Malfoy sneered. “How in Merlin’s name did the Room of Requirement allow you in?”

Harry was wondering about that too. He shouldn’t have been able to get into the Room of Requirement while it was occupied unless he had known exactly what it was being used for. “Have you been looking for a room for Defense?”

Malfoy’s cold gray eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Strange,” Harry replied, not as concerned about the wand lodged against his throat or Malfoy’s presence in general as he pondered their situation.

There was a long silence in which Harry could feel Malfoy glaring at him, before the boy finally broke it. “Is that what you required? Defense?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “And if you didn’t, then it should be impossible for us to be in the Room together.”

“Hm.” And Malfoy sounded thoughtful as well.

“What did you require?” Harry questioned. “A tower?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malfoy snapped. “If I had wanted something so plebeian I could have just made my way up to the Astronomy Tower, couldn’t I?”

“Then what was it?” Harry asked with a tinge of frustration.

“Like I’d tell you,” the boy drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes. He wondered if Malfoy was doing something sinister here, but something in his gut told him that was preposterous. It didn’t look like there was anything particularly sinister one could get up to in a barren tower. His gaze switched out to the grounds as Malfoy’s wand remained unmoving against his neck. “Are you going to hex me, or not?”

“Depends,” Malfoy replied.

“On what?” Harry asked, turning his head as much as he could to look back at the boy again.

“On whether or not you’re planning on hexing me,” Malfoy replied after only a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m not going to hex you, Malfoy,” Harry stated honestly, although with a note of exasperation. “I only hex in self-defense.”

“How very Gryffindor of you,” Malfoy sneered.

“It’s called being a decent human being, Malfoy,” Harry retorted. “You should try it some time.”

Malfoy’s cold expression tightened, but the tip of his wand pulled away and Harry was free to turn around and face him.

Harry stared at him, a bit surprised by Malfoy’s acquiescence, and Malfoy scowled, watching him warily. The gnawing silence between them grew, until it became downright uncomfortable. So Harry opted to survey their surroundings instead. “I had no idea the Room of Requirement could create a room that was outside.”

“Apparently, it can,” Malfoy observed unhelpfully, still watching Harry cautiously as if expecting Harry to pull out his wand and try to disarm him at any moment.

Harry sent Malfoy a look, the boy’s usually gray eyes glowed back at him, silver in the moonlight. “Right.”

“Are you planning on leaving at any point?” Malfoy blurted rudely. Harry could tell Malfoy had wanted to ask that ever since the tip of his wand had parted with the flesh of Harry’s throat.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied airily, wanting to make the prat squirm, and he leaned back against the wall behind him. “It’s quite comfortable here.”

Malfoy scowled.

“How often have you come here?” Harry asked, curious despite himself.

Malfoy just gave him a look.

Harry let out a frustrated breath. He shouldn’t have expected Malfoy to fall into an easy conversation with him. The Slytherin hated him, after all, and really, the feeling was mutual.

He walked back to the impost beneath the archway and looked out at the moonlit grounds. After a long time of staring out at the lake and Hagrid’s hut as smoke billowed out of the chimney, Harry began to wonder how it was they weren’t actually outside. It was almost as if he had been transported by the Room of Requirement to the Astronomy Tower.

Then a thought struck Harry, and he grinned.

“Did you require a snog, Malfoy?”

Malfoy, who was still standing quite a ways behind him in the middle of the tower, scowled at Harry when he turned back around to regard him. “What are you on about, Potter?”

“It’s just that it looks like we’re in the Astronomy Tower,” Harry explained, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “At night.”

“Absolutely not,” Malfoy snapped, and to Harry’s disappointment he looked to be telling the truth. “I could get that anywhere. I don’t need an enchanted room for it.”

Harry frowned disbelievingly. After all, from his point of view, Malfoy wasn’t attractive in the least. His face was pointy and his personality was abhorrent. Who in the school, excluding perhaps Pansy Parkinson, would want to snog that?

Malfoy glared at him. “You doubt me, Potter?”

Harry remained silent, but his expression clearly told Malfoy all he needed to know.

Malfoy huffed. “I’ll have you know I have quite the line-up of pureblood Slytherins pining for me.”

“That’s great, Malfoy,” Harry replied drily, trying really hard not to envision the boy sitting on a throne in the Slytherin dungeons turning away love-struck witches as they attempted to molest him.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy spat and then he stomped over to the archway Harry was leaning against and stared out at the grounds unseeingly, his pale face pinched. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot of luck with snogging, yourself.”

Harry glared at him, because the comment hit the mark. “I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Oh right,” Malfoy drawled testily. “Defeating dark wizards and saving the wizarding world. How’s that going, Potter?”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, and for the first time since he’d entered the Room of Requirement he felt truly irritated.

“But it seems you missed a spot,” Draco continued spitefully. “You couldn’t save that Godfather of yours.”

Harry pulled his wand out and dug it into Draco’s sternum before he’d even consciously thought about doing it. Malfoy merely smirked back at him.

“Shut up about that Malfoy or I’ll –”

“Or what?” Malfoy interrupted him. “You’ll hex me? That won’t bring him back. My dear Aunt made sure of that.”

Harry punched the boy before he’d even known his fist was moving, his knuckles connecting with Malfoy’s cheek and sending him sprawling onto the stone ground. Harry’s fingers ached as he watched Malfoy put a hand to his face and sit up to glare at him.

Malfoy spat something that could have been blood onto the stone floor, and even though Harry was still angry, he began to feel a sickening amount of guilt.

“Just like a mudblood-lover,” Draco spat, his left eye swelling conspicuously. “Attacking with your fists instead of your wand.”

Harry glared down at him, breathing heavily to control his anger. Malfoy stood up and wiped at his bleeding nose ineffectually, leaving a long crimson swath across his cheek.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry stated lowly, almost under his breath, and he wished he had never gotten into this gods-forsaken Room of Requirement.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Malfoy sneered, his eyes flashing in the dark.

Harry’s fists clenched and then he turned around and left, hating the Slytherin bastard more than he had in ages. As the door to the Room of Requirement closed behind him, he vowed with more passion than ever before that he would beat Malfoy into the ground on the Quidditch pitch.

That night, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep, plagued by nightmares of high towers and Sirius passing through the veil.

The next morning, he informed Hermione in no uncertain terms that he would not be instructing the DA. She’d argued with him, but he wouldn’t back down, and eventually she had to relent, giving him a frustrated and quizzical look. Harry then told Ron that the Quidditch team was going to practice more during the week, and Ron, while clearly surprised, didn’t seem to disagree with the general principle.

For the first time since the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry had risen to extraordinary levels of hostility within the castle walls, Harry found his own feelings matching the fervor of his house mates. His Quidditch team mates seemed to notice this right away, because even though he worked them every other evening after lessons until they no longer had the strength to hang onto their brooms, they barely complained. By that point, they were all caught up in such a frenzy that beating Slytherin had become their ultimate life’s ambition.

Once again, with only a week to go before the rematch, fights between Gryffindors and Slytherins broke out in the halls, their participants no longer concerned with avoiding punishment. At the center of it all, Harry and Draco circled each other like rival werewolves every time they came in contact, Ron and Blaise baiting them on as they snapped and threatened each other. They even went so far as to take out their wands before a Professor passed by and forced them to desist.

Malfoy had refused to let Madam Pomfrey heal his black eye as if it was a badge of honor, and he went around telling grander and even more preposterous stories about how some random Gryffindor had attacked him, never revealing exactly who specifically his assailant was. He claimed that it was done in the dead of night, when he couldn’t see the perpetrator’s face, but he was certain they were a Gryffindor and a mudblood because they hadn’t used their wand in favor of brute muggle force.

Harry hadn’t bothered to out himself, preferring to stay anonymous to a deed that he, despite his anger with Malfoy, still found shameful. Malfoy’s tales, however, only heightened the Gryffindors’ ire and by the end of the week, both houses had effectively lost two-hundred points each, placing them well below Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. However, by that point, the Gryffindors and Slytherins couldn’t have cared less.

By the day of the match, both teams were out for blood. The tension in the Great Hall at breakfast could easily be cut with a butter knife as the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams ate at their respective tables in an unnerving silence. Not even Seamus dared to break it as the rest of the student body buzzed with anticipation. Hermione was watching them all with an expression of deep disapproval, but no one, not even Ron, paid much attention to her.  

Harry was the first to stand up after taking one last swallow of his pumpkin juice, forcing it down despite the lump in his throat. The rest of the team followed him while three-fourths of the student body cheered as they walked out of the Great Hall. Only the Slytherins predictably jeered in their wake.

The roar that greeted them from the stands once he and the Gryffindor team stepped onto the pitch was deafening, and Harry was grateful to get on his broom and rise above it as he faced off with the Slytherin captain across from him. When they moved forward to shake, it immediately became a competition to see how tightly they could grip each other’s hands before one of them cried mercy. Thankfully, Madam Hooch blew the whistle for play to start before either of them could reach that point.

Harry pulled his broom upward and immediately spotted Malfoy hovering on the other side of the pitch, surveying the grounds for the snitch. Harry looked for it as well, in between observing the match below. He just caught sight of Ginny as she got hold of the quaffle and attempted to slam it through one of the Slytherin hoops. However, at the last second she was thwarted by a bulky Slytherin beater, who rammed into her side and forced the quaffle out of her hands. Harry scowled as one of the Slytherin chasers caught it and put it in play for the other side.

Harry glanced at Malfoy to make sure that he hadn’t seen the Snitch yet either, making an effort to ignore the match below and look for it himself, but just as he hovered and spied what he thought was a conspicuous glint of gold near one of the goal hoop’s posts, someone, possibly Ron, shouted his name and he was forced to flip over just as a stray bludger skimmed his cheek.

The crowd below gasped as he made himself right again and glared at the Slytherin beaters who were snarling at him as if he’d stomped on their mums’ graves. One of the Gryffindor beaters sent a bludger back at them and they were forced to dodge it themselves. Harry nodded to his team mate gratefully, and he flew farther away down the pitch, his eyes once again scanning for the golden snitch.

Half an hour passed without a sign of the Snitch, and the fouls on the pitch mounted as Gryffindors and Slytherins alike bashed each other and got hit by bludgers. Ginny was the only player who seemed unscathed as she swerved past obstacles and made amazing goals with Dean backing her up. In the end, however, that didn’t matter much because the total scores were neck and neck, 90 to 80 Gryffindor.

Harry became more frantic in his search, not having seen anything snitch-like in quite some time. He looked up to see Malfoy searching with an equally frenzied pace on the opposite side of the pitch, his gray eyes feverishly scanning the surrounding area for anything gold that would glint in the sunlight. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours, the match becoming more and more heated as it tied 120 to 120.    

When Harry finally saw it, his eyes were scanning the pitch so feverishly that he’d had to back track, but there it was, hovering down by a Slytherin chaser’s boot. Glancing over quickly to see that Malfoy hadn’t yet discovered what he had, Harry took a deep breath and plunged.

“And it looks like Potter’s found the Snitch!”

Harry could barely hear the crowd’s reaction as wind blew into his ears. The Slytherin chaser he was plunging toward stared up at him wide-eyed and darted out of the way, making the Snitch dart out in the opposite direction. Harry cursed and violently changed his trajectory, feeling his broom vibrate warningly beneath him as he made a hard turn.

“Malfoy’s chasing after him, but can he catch up in time?”

A shadow fell upon him and Harry didn’t have to look up to know that Malfoy was there. Harry pushed forward until his chest was resting on the handle of his broom, the weaving Snitch never escaping his sight as he dodged other players and stray bludgers. The Snitch dropped perilously close to the ground and the crowd gasped as Harry followed it, straining his fingers forward toward the golden ball as his knees and the toes of his boots skimmed the grass of the pitch.

With a sense of clarity, Harry knew he would catch it. Malfoy wasn’t nearly close enough to get around him from behind. However, his fingertips just brushed the cold metal plating of its form when something slammed into him from behind, pushing him forward and off of his broom to crash into the hard earth below. He barely felt something whoosh past him, blowing a harsh wind through the hair at the nape of his neck, before he groaned with pain into the dirt beneath him. Malfoy tumbled to a stop beside him, barely staying upright on his feet as he scowled, and Harry realized that the prat must have been the one to push him off his broom.

However, it was to no avail.  

Harry turned over gingerly and grinned triumphantly, the Snitch beating its wings helplessly in his hand.

“And Potter has the Snitch! Congratulations, Gryffindor!”

The stands erupted and Gryffindors fell out of the sky all around him, roaring and cheering and pumping their fists into the air. Malfoy stumbled back, obscured by the crowd of celebratory Gryffindors. Hands came down to pull Harry up onto his feet, and he raised his hand into the air, letting the Snitch glint in the sunlight above their heads. The crowd roared its approval, washing out the inevitable boos of the Slytherins as Gryffindor fans spilled out onto the pitch.

Dean pat Harry on the back, tears of joy running down his face. Ron pushed his way through the crowd until he was by Harry’s side.

“That was bloody brilliant, mate!” Ron roared in his ear over all of the cheers. “I thought that bludger was going to get you for sure!”

“Bludger?” Harry shouted back, confused.

“The one aimed at your head just before you caught the Snitch!” Ron yelled back. “If Malfoy hadn’t pushed you, it would have bashed your skull in! Sodding bugger probably didn’t realize he was saving your life! Did you see the look on his face?” And then Ron laughed.

Harry stood there shocked. He hadn’t even seen a bludger, but he realized that it must have been what he’d felt blow past the nape of his neck just after Malfoy had slammed into him.

Ron and Dean lifted him onto their shoulders and Harry laughed, but then his gaze caught upon the sullen Slytherin team making their way back into the changing rooms. He couldn’t help honing in on one particular figure with platinum blond hair who was trudging back fairly separate from the pack. Harry’s smile fell away and he wondered.  

As expected, the celebration in the Gryffindor tower that night was spectacularly loud and disorderly.   Harry was forced to regale a series of housemates, ending with a gaggle of Gryffindor girls, with the tale of how he had caught the snitch before they would leave him alone.

Exhausted, he finally plopped down beside Hermione on a couch and they both watched a nearly legless Ron sing Weasley is our King at the top of his lungs as other Gryffindor seventh and sixth years, including Seamus and Dean who were also pissed on smuggled firewhiskey, egged him on.

“I’m so happy all this nonsense is going to be over and done with,” Hermione stated ruefully as Ron giggled rather effeminately between the lyrics.    

Harry smiled. “I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” Hermione asked disbelievingly, sending him a quizzical look. “You seemed a bit angry for the past two weeks.”

“I wasn’t angry,” Harry replied quickly. Hermione looked dubious. “I just didn’t want Slytherin to win.”

Hermione watched him and Harry avoided her gaze. She sighed.

“I will never understand Quidditch.” Hermione shook her head with a frown. “It further divides the houses and nearly kills the players. I was afraid for your life. I nearly hexed Pansy.”

“You nearly hexed Pansy?” Harry repeated incredulously.

“She was mooning over Malfoy the entire match,” Hermione informed him defensively. “And by the point you’d very nearly gotten yourself decapitated by that bludger, I’d had enough.”

Harry grimaced. “I hadn’t even known there was a bludger, until Ron told me about it.”

“I don’t imagine you did. Otherwise you would have had the sense to move out of the way,” Hermione replied. “Thank Merlin, Malfoy pushed you. If he wasn’t such an abhorrent twat and Pansy wasn’t so fond of him, I would have run down to the pitch and kissed him straight on the mouth.”

Harry struggled between gagging and chuckling at the image of Malfoy getting bowled over by a crazed Hermione determined for a snog. Although, ultimately, it reminded him of his earlier confusion about Malfoy. He’d been thinking about him off and on ever since the game had ended, wondering each time he recounted the match to his housemates what Malfoy had been doing and why he had done it.

“You should get some rest, Harry,” Hermione observed with concern. “You look exhausted.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but closed it abruptly and nodded when he realized she was right. Saying goodnight to her, he stood to make his way up to his dorm room, just noticing Ron as the boy toppled off of the table he’d been standing on to be caught by a laughing Seamus. Harry really must have been exhausted, because the moment his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep and dreamed of a hidden tower.

The next morning at breakfast the tower was all Harry could think about as he absently chewed on some toast. He wondered how often Malfoy had gone there before Harry had found it and if the boy still frequented it now. In fact, it distracted him so thoroughly later while studying with Hermione and Ron in the common room that he hadn’t realized both of his friends were trying to get his attention until Ron poked him in the arm with the tip of his quill.

“What’s on your mind, mate?” Ron asked with concern, looking relieved to find a distraction from writing his transfiguration essay.

Harry just shook his head and smiled. “Nothing. I’m just a bit tired.”

“From the match yesterday?” Hermione asked with surprise. “You didn’t sleep well last night?”

“I slept fine, Hermione,” Harry replied earnestly, not wanting them to worry. There was nothing wrong with him, and it’s not like he could explain to them what was actually on his mind.

“It was a difficult match,” Ron observed, and he stretched his arms behind his chair. “I’ve still got all these kinks in my muscles from the practices, but it was worth it!”

Harry nodded and tried his best to at least appear as though he was concentrating on his work after that. Both Ron and Hermione had become extra attentive to him since the turmoil of the year before, and while he appreciated it, he also found it right overbearing at times.

In this manner, he managed to get a meter of parchment written for transfiguration that might have amounted to a load of rubbish for all he knew. Then they all packed up their things and went down to the Great Hall for dinner.

Malfoy was there and Harry absently followed him with his gaze before Hermione plopped some mince pie onto his plate and told him to eat.

“It will help you recover,” she stated helpfully.

Hastening to avoid any sort of altercation with the stubborn girl, Harry pushed the food into his mouth obediently.

That night, Harry stood on the Seventh Floor in front of Barnabus the Barmy and took a deep breath.   Making sure the corridor on either side of him was satisfactorily empty, Harry wrapped his invisibility cloak tighter around himself and walked back and forth three times, thinking about Defense. Only when the familiar old wooden door appeared before him, torchlight flickering warmly through the cracks, did he wonder if the Room wasn’t, in fact, malfunctioning, but giving him something to help with Defense. The thought of it made Harry shiver as he looked up the spiral staircase, memories from the end of yesterday’s match racing through his mind.

Harry doubted if Malfoy was actually there, but the moment his foot landed on the top step, he saw the boy sitting casually on the impost beneath an archway, looking out at the grounds as it lightly drizzled outside.

Harry watched him for a bit. Malfoy hadn’t seemed to notice him yet and he suddenly doubted whether he should intrude, but then he shook his head of the thought. He had questions he had to know the answers to. Otherwise he’d just continue to wonder about it all until he was driven mad.

He slipped out of his invisibility cloak and stepped forward, joining Malfoy at the impost. Malfoy’s head whipped around quickly in his direction, his pale eyes wide with incredulity.

“Potter?”

“Malfoy.” Harry nodded, looking back at him squarely to hide his own nerves. “You come here often?”

Malfoy sent him an odd look, and Harry was suddenly uncomfortable as he realized his question had sounded a lot like a muggle pick-up line.

However, Malfoy sneered, avoiding the issue, if he had noticed it at all. “So the Room is truly broken then, letting in riff-raff like you not just once but twice.”

“Riff-raff who beat you to the Snitch,” Harry rejoined, stepping further into the room and sending Malfoy one of his own smirks.

“That was pure luck,” Malfoy tossed back, one eye brow raised imperiously. “You’ve got an uncanny amount of it, but sooner or later it will run out and everyone will learn about the talentless, attention-seeker you are.”

Harry frowned with irritation. He knew what Malfoy thought of him – The Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen-One of the press, and love of the wizarding world who reveled in all of the attention. None of this was a surprise, given that the sentiment had colored Malfoy’s taunts ever since they’d entered Hogwarts. He found he didn’t care much about that anymore, but he did want to know something else. “Did you push me out of the way of that bludger?”

“Why would I do that?” Malfoy drawled, but it sounded like an evasion, and Harry was unconvinced.

“I don’t know, Malfoy,” Harry replied carefully. “You tell me.”

“Well, since I didn’t do it to save you, if that’s what you’re implying,” Malfoy sneered. “Then I’m sure I couldn’t tell you why I would do something so ridiculous.”

“So you pushed me toward the Snitch and away from a bludger that likely would have killed me, entirely by accident,” Harry clarified, and he leaned forward against the ledge, looking at Malfoy squarely. “If that’s the case, then I don’t need much luck, just your amazing lack of competence.”

Malfoy bristled and glared. “I’m an incredibly competent Seeker, Potter, unlike you.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” Harry retorted. “You practically handed me the Snitch.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything, before he ripped his gaze away and glared out at the rain-soaked grounds instead.

“Is it that hard for you to admit that you saved my life?” Harry muttered lowly, and Malfoy’s pale features twitched.

“I didn’t,” Malfoy denied stubbornly, and he looked over and caught Harry’s gaze. “At least not on purpose.”

Harry didn’t believe Malfoy for a second, but he let it go. “All right. Fine. You saved me entirely by accident and won the game for Gryffindor. Congratulations.”

Malfoy scowled. “Are you going to make a habit of this?”

“Of what?” Harry asked, bemused.

“Coming up into this Tower and bothering me?”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s scowling face, wondering why the prospect of visiting Malfoy more often in the Room of Requirement actually sounded quite fun.

“Maybe.” He shrugged noncommittally. Then he made a show of looking around. “I like it up here.”

Malfoy let out a huff, and his next comment was long-suffering and sarcastic. “ _Brilliant_. And here I thought I’d been rid of you.”

Harry realized he was referring to their previous encounter, and then, much against his best judgment, he genuinely smiled. “It would seem accidentally saving a bloke’s life automatically negates any hard feelings. No matter how awful you are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Malfoy muttered sarcastically.

Malfoy looked quite put upon, staring back out at the grounds as the rain fell. Harry looked out as well, breathing in the smell of wet limestone as his gaze caught upon a line of smoke eschewing out of Hagrid’s roof.

“So, do you come here every night?” Harry asked again, his voice soft.

A long silence answered him, but Harry turned his gaze toward Malfoy, watching him expectantly and knowing how uncomfortable he was making the Slytherin with his staring.

Eventually, Malfoy turned his head and glared at him. His voice was rough with frustration. “I come here when I can. Although, now, I may severely cut my visits.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

Malfoy looked at him as if he was daft. “Because I don’t fancy the company, Potter, and –”

“No, I meant,” Harry shook his head and looked up at the ceiling of the tower for patience. “Why have you been coming here?”

“As if I’d tell _you_ ,” Malfoy drawled, clearly thinking that should be obvious.

Harry frowned, but then he rolled his eyes and let out a breath. “Fine.”

They both fell into silence after that, watching the grounds as wind and rain whipped across the grass and interrupted the placid surface of the lake. Eventually, Harry sat down on the opposite side of the ledge and found his body relaxing.

He watched gusts of wind push rain drops onto Draco’s face as the boy remained still and stoically ignored the weather along with his unwelcome companion. It wasn’t long before Harry’s eyelids grew heavy.

When he next opened them, he was alone and the rain had stopped. Harry looked around blearily but he couldn’t see Malfoy anywhere. He must have fallen asleep before the boy left. Sliding off the ledge tiredly, Harry wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He quietly snuck back into his dorm room and fell onto his four-poster, too tired to change out of his clothes before falling back to sleep.


	2. A Life Worth Saving

The next day in Potions, Malfoy ignored him and Harry granted him the same courtesy, even when they were placed together as partners by Snape who was so often inclined to place them together when he was in a particularly vindictive mood.

Ron sent Harry a commiserating look, but Harry just shrugged before taking his seat beside Malfoy and getting to work. They brewed the potion in complete silence, Malfoy passing Harry ingredients to cut or smash or grind or pluck while Malfoy stirred or added ingredients to the brew. By the end of the lesson, Snape was most displeased to see that their potion was without flaw and that Harry hadn’t created any difficulties for Malfoy.

When they left the dungeons, Ron whinged about having Neville as a partner, and Hermione sent Harry a sideways look. “You and Malfoy seemed to get on well.”

Harry only shrugged at the uneasy truce he and Malfoy seemed to have cultivated between them. “He’s not bad so long as he doesn’t open his mouth.”

“Hm,” Hermione agreed with a small smile. “So you two have worked out a system?”

Harry started, thinking Hermione might know more than she was letting on, but he quickly realized that was preposterous, and he shook his head casually. “It seems like it.”

“Wait…” Ron jumped in when he finally realized neither of them had been listening to him whinge. “You and Malfoy have a system?”

“Not really,” Harry replied honestly. “I think we just both know it’ll be easier to live in the same castle if we don’t speak to one another.”

 _In public_ , Harry thought. Although, the way things had been going in the Room of Requirement, it might apply to any time.

“Malfoy’s still sore about the match then, is he?” Ron grinned. “Nothing else would shut him up.”

“I suppose,” Harry grinned back. “He always has been a sore loser.”

Hermione just rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “I will never understand Quidditch.”

“That’s what you have me for.” Ron grinned, and he wrapped a long arm around her shoulders, nuzzling his face into her neck.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed embarrassedly, pushing a hand against his face.

Harry smiled, enjoying Hermione’s discomfort at Ron’s advances. Although, something about their playful display of affection made him feel a bit bereft. Hermione finally forced Ron off of her with an errant giggle and caught Harry’s eye with a questioning look, but Harry just looked away.

However, at dinner in the Great Hall, Harry realized he hadn’t quite escaped Hermione’s focus.

“So Harry, is there anyone you fancy?”

Harry nearly spat out his mouth full of pumpkin juice, but he managed to swallow it after a momentous struggle that made his eyes water. “What?”

“Hermione!” Ron admonished her, pointing a leg of chicken in her direction as his eyes darted around the table at all the other Gryffindors who were now staring at them in interest. “Would you keep it down?”

“I don’t know, mate,” Seamus weighed in from his seat on Harry’s right with a grin that looked suspiciously like a leer. “I’m a fair bit interested.”

Dean leaned over the table from his seat beside Hermione and irritably flicked chunks of potato at Seamus’s face. Seamus just wiped his cheek good-naturedly, as if he’d expected it, but Dean did not appear mollified. Neville looked a bit uncomfortable with the exchange from his viewpoint on Hermione’s other side. However, everyone else was watching Harry expectantly, including a few first years nearest to their group.

“Erm…” Harry began lamely, trying to ignore the attention. “I don’t fancy anyone right now.”

In fact, Harry couldn’t remember fancying anyone since Cho, and the memories of that held such bitter connotations that it was difficult for him to even ponder a romantic attachment of any sort.  

“Well, that’s a load of bollocks,” Seamus muttered. “And here I thought we were going to hear something prophet-worthy.”

Harry looked up to see Hermione’s features alight with an expression of pity and he mentally groaned.

“There’s really no one in this school who you find attractive?” Hermione pressed, and Harry wondered why she was suddenly so interested in his love life and wished she would stop.

“Er...” He thought about it, cataloging all the girls he’d seen in the school, and he couldn’t think of a single one he was attracted to at the moment. “No.”

“What about Ginny?” Hermione suggested and the girl in question stiffened several seats down the table, her eyes wide before they narrowed with embarrassment in Hermione’s direction. Hermione remained unaffected, however, as she watched Harry closely.

Harry was scrambling to think of something appropriate to say, but Ron came to the rescue after he finished swallowing whatever he’d stuck into his mouth. “But Ginny’s with Dean!”

“Actually, no,” Dean stated quietly, glancing quickly at Ginny. “She’s not.”

“What?” Ron blustered, his eyes wide. “When did this happen?”

“A while ago,” Ginny informed him calmly, although she still looked a bit flushed and she wouldn’t meet Harry’s gaze. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Okay,” Ron replied, looking as though his entire world had been turned upside down.   Although Harry had a sneaking suspicion he was also relieved.

“So then –” Hermione began, but Ron cut her off.

“Hermione, leave the bloke alone. Harry’s got more important things to worry about!”

Hermione bristled and huffed. “Of course he does, but there’s nothing wrong with finding a bit of happiness while in school.”

“Yeah, but not with my sister,” Ron scowled protectively and Ginny frowned at him, which he ignored. But then Ron seemed to think of something and he turned toward Harry. “Wait, you’re not happy, Harry?”

“What?” Harry uttered lamely, completely lost now.

“Is something wrong?” Ron pressed with concern, placing a friendly hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry felt a bit boxed in as everyone else watched him, especially Seamus who was shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. “Erm…I’m fine.”

“Ron,” Hermione stated exasperatedly. “Harry’s fine. I only meant that it might be good for him to see someone.”

“Are you nutters, woman?” Ron questioned. “Harry’s busy with Quidditch and the war. He can’t spend time worrying about girls and relationships. Merlin! Just look at me! All my free time is gone!”

Hermione’s expression darkened and her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Wrong thing to say, mate,” Dean informed him helpfully as Hermione’s body went rigid beside his.

“Well, if that’s the way you see our relationship, then why don’t you end it?” Hermione retorted scathingly, and then she stood up from the table. “After all, I’m taking all of your precious free time with which you could be doing more important things like playing exploding snap.”

“I do more than play exploding snap!” Ron informed her stubbornly, but then Hermione stomped away from the table, and he groaned.

“Wait, Hermione, that’s not what I meant!” Ron called out and he ran after her.

Harry watched them go, knowing that they would make up somehow, even though Ron had been an idiot. After all, it hadn’t been the first time.

“Relationships are rough,” Seamus observed with a pathetic sigh, but then some more stray chunks of potato hit him in the face and he shut up.

That night, Harry entered the Room of Requirement and found Malfoy already there just as he had been the night before. Harry sat on the ledge opposite him and nodded in greeting. Malfoy glanced at him exasperatedly, as if he simply couldn’t believe Harry was back. Although, he gave up after Harry watched him expectantly, and nodded stiffly in return.

Harry took the time to stare at Malfoy’s profile as the boy pointedly ignored his existence and looked out at the grounds. Wind from the clear night brushed through his blond locks and moonlight glinted in his eyes.

“What?”

Harry started, and then realized that Malfoy was scowling at him. It took Harry a bit to collect himself, and he shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Then would you kindly do nothing _without_ staring at me?” Malfoy muttered darkly.

“But making you feel uncomfortable is my one true pleasure in life, Malfoy.” Harry smirked and Malfoy squirmed a bit.

“Potter…” Malfoy growled warningly, and Harry put his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture.

“Okay, I’ll stop,” Harry agreed and he gazed out at the grounds. “I do appreciate how relaxing it is here.”

“It was more relaxing when I was alone,” Malfoy sneered but he gazed out the archway as well.

“Hm,” Harry murmured distractedly, his gaze caught on the lake as the giant squid surfaced and glinted in the moonlight before submerging once again. “This really is like the Astronomy Tower. Do you think we can see what’s actually happening outside at this very moment? Like it’s a projection of the real world?”

Malfoy was silent for a moment, but then he seemed intrigued despite himself. “I don’t know. It’s possible. I think it was a clear night tonight the last time I looked out a window in the castle.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I had no idea the Room of Requirement could do this. Even the breeze feels real.”

“Well, it _is_ enchanted, Potter,” Malfoy stated exasperatedly. “Nothing is impossible when it comes to powerful magic, but of course you wouldn’t know that, having grown up with _muggles_.”

Harry scowled, but then he just shrugged, not feeling properly irritated as a soft breeze tickled the fringe of hair over his scar. “I suppose.”

Malfoy gazed at him oddly, before looking away.

They both stared out at the grounds, lost in thought once again, and Harry came to think it would stay that way until Malfoy broke the silence.

“Sometimes I wonder if a Quidditch game would be visible from here during the day.”

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, intrigued by the boy’s sudden openness to small talk. “That would be interesting. Although, I’m not sure I’d want to risk it, what if someone else gets in while we’re in here?”

“You think the Room would let just anyone in?” Malfoy questioned, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Why not?” Harry shrugged. “It’s already let me in when you’re in here, and neither of us required the same thing, or so you say.”

“Hm,” Malfoy murmured. “Yes, I’d rather not suffer the company of yet another idiot. One is quite enough.”

Harry couldn’t help smiling a bit as Malfoy, albeit rather rudely, agreed with him about something for the first time since he’d known him. Harry sat back against the archway column behind him and relaxed the muscles in his back that he hadn’t even realized were tense.

“So, what’s your favorite professional Quidditch team, Malfoy?”

Malfoy looked at him as if he was daft, but Harry merely smiled.

In the nights that followed, Harry continued to go to the hidden tower, as he had come to call it, and Malfoy had continued to be there. They would talk about everything and nothing, although they never touched the controversial subjects of Voldemort, Death Eaters, the Order, the War, or certain parts of their pasts. Most of the topics were inconsequential, like what their favorite food was or where they would like to travel if they had the chance, but Harry found himself enjoying it immensely.

As the nights grew into weeks, Harry had to compensate for his time in the tower with Malfoy by going to bed earlier than his dorm mates, which had initially frustrated Ron.

“But I thought we were going to play chess tonight!”

“Sorry, mate,” Harry replied and yawned for effect. “I’m knackered.”

“But –” Ron blustered, before Hermione put a soothing hand on his shoulder and sent Harry a questioning look.

“Let him rest, Ron,” Hermione murmured. “I’ll play with you if you’d like.”

“All right,” Ron shrugged, although it was begrudgingly, and Harry tried to squash down the guilt that ultimately reared within him before he made his way up the stairs to his empty dorm room alone.

Three hours later when all the rest of Gryffindor had gone to bed, Harry would get up and escape the tower, wrapped in his invisibility cloak. Usually, he didn’t get back into bed until three hours after that, completely exhausted as his most recent conversation with Malfoy ran through his head.  

In the lessons that Gryffindors shared with Slytherins, like Potions and Care of Magical Creatures, Harry and Malfoy ignored each other. The same went for when they past each other in the halls. Even as their friends bristled and taunted each other.

Ron would send Harry odd, displeased looks after all such encounters, but Harry would just pat him on the back and ask him if he thought they were having something good for dinner. That tended to suitably distract his best mate, but sometimes, Ron wouldn’t stop ranting about Malfoy or Slytherins in general and he’d ask why Harry hadn’t backed him up. In those instances, Harry would just wait it out until Ron ran out of steam, but Hermione would send him bemused looks and Harry would have to avoid her gaze.

After three weeks had passed, Malfoy had come late one night and Harry had almost lost his nerves waiting for him. It was then that Harry realized how much he had come to count on Malfoy being there, and how much he looked forward to their rendezvous throughout each day. That was the first moment Harry recognized he might consider Malfoy a friend.

As the nights wore on, Harry could feel his friendship with Malfoy deepening. Malfoy shared bits of his childhood with him; Stories about his adventures with his imaginary friend, Olric the Occamy, when he was left alone at Malfoy Manor.

“An Occamy?” Harry questioned, having never heard of it before.

Malfoy sent him one of his exasperated looks, but as always, he explained. “It’s a sort of winged serpent found in the Far East, and its eggs are made of silver. They’re quite rare.”

“Sounds odd,” Harry observed.

“Of course it does for someone like you,” Malfoy sniffed. “You really were incredibly deprived as a child, Potter.”

“Seems like it.” Harry shrugged, not particularly bothered by the jab. After all, it wasn’t as if Malfoy actually had an Occamy. His was imaginary.

Malfoy sent him another look, before sighing in disgust as if he didn’t know quite how to deal with him. Harry just smiled at him, amused by how flustered Malfoy became in his presence.

Another night, Malfoy haughtily described his day trips with his mother to France.

“Mother always bought the most exquisite jewelry in Wizarding Paris, and afterward, we would eat chocolate crepes and sip hot cocoa by the Seine.”

Harry soaked it all in, images of the Eiffel tower all lit up at night and high-end Parisian shops seeping through his mind and transporting him. Even Malfoy seemed to be somewhere else as he recounted it, his eyes lit up and his hands moving to punctuate a point from his memories.

Malfoy even recounted his first disastrous ride on a broomstick at age five, and his father’s conspicuous absence as he grew up.

Through it all, Harry came to understand that while Malfoy had been truly spoiled as a child, having often been given anything he could ever want, he had also been incredibly lonely with only house elves and an imaginary magical creature for company.

That made it easier for Harry to share bits of his own childhood with Malfoy, although, he kept the most painful portions out, not particularly wanting to reveal or relive them. He talked about the odd happenings that occurred around him when he was avoiding his classmates at school and his confusion much later when he learned that they had all been caused by uncontrolled magic. He told Malfoy about the snake at the zoo, and Hagrid’s visit, but he also talked about spending long hours under the hot sun, lying on the grass outside his relatives’ house and staring up at the sky, just waiting for the summer to end or for the Weasleys to take him to the Burrow.

Malfoy listened intently and made few comments, even when Harry brought up the Dursleys and how horrible they were. Malfoy didn’t fixate on the fact that they were muggles, as Harry had suspected he would. He only looked slightly disgusted, his face pinched and his lips tight.

As the nights wore on, Harry found himself watching Malfoy more intently, the boy's pale skin glowing in the moonlight as he spoke about something random and benign. He found it harder to look out at the grounds when Malfoy was sitting beside him, the wind playing with his pale hair as his pointed features softened. It was as if Malfoy had gained his own gravitational force and Harry was in his personal orbit, unable to look away even if he'd wanted to.

One time, Malfoy had accidentally brushed Harry’s knee with his fingertips and a jolt ran up Harry’s leg. Harry had felt heat flood his face and he'd stuttered in his speech, his mind going suspiciously blank. The skin on his knee tingled long afterward, and Harry could hardly sleep that night, his mind racing and heart hammering as he stared unseeingly up at the ceiling over his four-poster.

That next morning, Harry woke up panting, his pajama bottoms uncomfortably sticky. He sat there staring at the mocking stain in shock for a while, bits and pieces of his dreams from the night before tauntingly skipping through his mind. Only minutes later, he rushed into the bathroom before Ron could open his curtains and see the reason for his mortification.

Harry spent the next two days in a state of denial. The very idea that he could be attracted to a bloke was one thing, definitely something, but the revelation that he could be attracted to Draco Malfoy of all people was quite another.

He walked through the halls and attended lessons during the day in a slight daze as he tried to push thoughts of Malfoy from his mind. He tried to reason that his new, albeit disturbing, dreams and feelings were a perfectly normal side-effect of spending so much time with the boy alone in that tower. Maybe it was enchanted in more ways than he'd thought. Maybe it had affected his mind somehow. After all, he didn’t even fancy blokes. Up until that point, he had been secure in the knowledge that he fancied girls and everything that they had to offer. Even the thought of an anonymous, generically pretty girl, like the ones he frequently spotted on the covers of Ron’s secret stash of PlayWizard, made him sufficiently hot and bothered.

Uncomfortable, Harry tried to ignore the funny feeling he got in his stomach when he randomly bumped into Malfoy in the halls or had to sit across the room from him during lessons, passing it off as mild discomfort. Yet, at that point, he knew that logic was weak. After all, Cho had made him feel the same way the first time he’d seen her on the Quidditch pitch during his third year.

He avoided the tower that night and, in the privacy of his four-poster, Harry tried to envision beautiful girls, undressing themselves as he touched himself. It worked for a time as he imagined their soft breasts and supple curves, but those curves transformed into a flat chest and narrow hips. By the time he reached his release, his traitorous mind was filled with Draco Malfoy looking at him with a slight smile tugging the Cupid's bow of his lips, his pointed features soft in the way they only ever were in the tower with Harry. The Draco in his fantasy wasn't even naked, but he placed a warm palm over Harry's hand and Harry felt the hot spike of want run through him like he'd been branded.

Harry groaned into his pillow, deciding to desist attempting that any more as he was clearly going mad and apparently incapable of separating Malfoy from his sexual fantasies. Harry didn't know what was worse, that Malfoy was the subject or that Harry apparently found an action as innocent as hand-holding erotic.

Abstinence seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan at the time. However, only two nights later, Harry couldn't resist going back to the tower. Malfoy frowned at him accusingly when he'd entered, but when Harry joined him at the impost, Malfoy sat closer to him than usual, his voice soft as he recounted another story from his childhood. Harry crumpled with defeat after he slid back into his four-poster and touched himself beneath his bedcovers, muffling his moans and grunts with a hand over his mouth as visions of pale skin and pointed features floated through his head. When he finally reached release, Harry whimpered and fell back against the mattress, trying to deny how good it felt to imagine Malfoy’s lips pressed against the nape of his neck.

But, after that, he could deny it no longer, and he had to accept it for what it was. He was attracted to Draco Malfoy. Merlin help him.

Never mind that Malfoy was a bloke, Harry’s hormones were apparently quite unbiased on the matter. Malfoy’s features were still as pointy as ever, and his tongue just as sharp, but somehow, Harry’s libido had managed to see past all of that, and he was left completely at its mercy.

He also couldn’t stop thinking about him. A fact that made him want to bang his head into a wall quite frequently, especially when he and Malfoy were in the same room. Even during lessons, Harry would have to stop himself from gazing at Malfoy like a complete berk. Too often, Hermione sent him odd looks as he worked to shake himself out of a daze, simultaneously fearful that Malfoy may have noticed and that he may not have cared if he had.

However, keeping control was especially difficult when he was with Malfoy alone in the tower. It was all he could do not to try to reach over and touch him. Every once and a while, Harry would lose focus and didn't even notice that he was staring. Malfoy would stare at him then, frown tugging at his lips, but Harry would glance away quickly and start talking before the boy had a chance to say anything.  

Every once and a while, Harry would ‘accidentally’ touch Malfoy’s hand, or his knee, or his shoulder and his heart beat would race until he finally released the built-up tension in bed, later that night.

The worst was when Malfoy's hand happened to just touch the edge of his as they sat. When that happened, it was difficult for Harry to tell himself that Draco couldn’t possibly feel the same. It was only his fear that it was all wishful thinking on his part that kept him from trying to find out.  

In this way, Harry struggled with his hidden longing for Draco Malfoy and the late night fantasies for another month. Then, one night, he had a dream that turned into a nightmare – a fantasy that turned into a vision – and he was left panting and rubbing his aching scar just as the sun crept over the horizon and bled morning light through his window. He couldn’t remember the vision in detail, but he was left with a definite sense that Voldemort was on the move, and Malfoy was in grave danger. 

“He’s insane, you know.” Harry blurted that night, watching Malfoy as the wind whipped through his pale hair and the moonlight lit his features just enough for Harry to make out his expression.

Malfoy didn’t even twitch as Harry broached the topic that was forbidden between them. Malfoy only fixed his gaze on the grounds below his perch in the hidden tower intently as if they held the solutions to all the problems in the universe.

Harry watched him, waiting with bated breath. Malfoy had yet to give him a sign that he’d heard or cared that Harry was tense and anxious for his reply. Harry wondered if Malfoy would just try to ignore the topic entirely.

However, after an eternity of silence, Malfoy nodded, his silver eyes flicking toward him for just a moment in acknowledgment.   His voice was ponderous. “Perhaps, but there is a certain logic to his insanity.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. As far as he was concerned, logic didn’t matter if the end result was death.  

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Malfoy let out a breath, his eyes leaving the grounds and focusing on Harry’s face for the first time that night. His expression was inscrutable and it made Harry anxious, but he didn’t drop Malfoy’s gaze – he held his ground, spine tense, fists tight as if he might start a physical fight, although that wouldn't do any good. He just needed something to occupy his hands.

“Perhaps not,” Malfoy murmured, and his features relaxed so that he actually looked a bit sad. “Not from a certain point of view.”

“A certain point of view?” Harry repeated, his voice flat and low with disbelief. Malfoy’s features closed off once again, his momentary lapse into vulnerable fatigue evaporating in the darkness that filled the tower with shadows. Harry had a sudden urge to grab him and shake him by the shoulders, memories of his mother’s scream echoing in his head. “Killing is never right, no matter what point of view you have.”

“The Dark Lord isn’t the only one who kills, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice turned cold, his features chiseled from ice. “Those who oppose him would be the first to admit savoring the death of His followers.”

“That’s not –” _true._ Harry meant to finish, but Malfoy interrupted him.

“At the very least, they would admit it was necessary. In their eyes, death is the only suitable punishment for a Death Eater.” Malfoy paused, his eyes narrowing just enough for Harry to notice. “And rightly so, because nothing else would truly stop a Death Eater from carrying out his mission.”

Harry shook his head, although at base he had to grudgingly admit Malfoy had a point. He himself had yearned for Bellatrix’s death after she had killed Sirius. He’d wanted to kill her because it was the only punishment he thought she deserved, and he knew he’d thought it to be justified at the time. Although, in the end, he had failed to even punish her with Crucio. He had to truly mean her excruciating pain and obviously he hadn’t been able to go through with it.

“It’s one thing to think killing is the only way, but it’s another to be able to do it in practice.” He sent Malfoy a look as the boy dispassionately glanced back down to the grounds. Desperation crept into Harry’s tone that he rued but couldn’t control.   “Do you honestly think you could do it, if Voldemort ordered you to? Even if you thought you wanted to?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Malfoy’s reply as the boy looked back at him, although Harry noticed the suspicious way his eyes darted away quickly afterward.

“Malfoy –”

“I would, Potter. Without a thought,” Malfoy pressed, his tone perfectly emotionless, but his gray eyes still avoided his gaze.

The Slytherin’s body was rigid now, even though he probably struggled to mask it.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Harry stated, and he kept watching him, waiting for the boy’s reaction.

The air felt heavy between them, but Harry wasn’t going to back down now. There was something he had been unconsciously seeking all the while, for every night they had been meeting secretly in the Room of Requirement, and now he could almost grasp it as tangibly as if it was a Golden Snitch.

Malfoy turned to him, his pale lips thin, the muscles of his delicate visage strained. Harry tensed

“You don’t know anything about me, Potter. Don’t pretend that just because you now know my favorite flavor of Bertie Botts, you somehow understand me or my motives, because you don’t.”

Malfoy’s tone was callus, but he looked vulnerable, and a great calm washed over Harry. The cold arrogant boy he had once hated with every fiber of his being was now the scared youth he should have always known was underneath.

“I know you better than you think,” Harry murmured. He gathered his courage and stepped forward, grasping Malfoy's elbow before he could step away.

“Unhand me, Potter,” Malfoy commanded with a strained voice, he looked shocked, and he tried to tug his arm out of Harry's grasp, but it was a weak attempt.

Taking that as encouragement, Harry bit his lip and stepped closer. Malfoy frowned, his brow wrinkling in worry. Harry pulled him into his arms and Malfoy stiffened.

"What - ?"

Harry shook his head then rested his chin against the crook of Malfoy's neck. Malfoy gasped and tensed further within his grasp.

Malfoy didn't push him away so Harry held on, his heart racing. He felt responsible somehow, for the way Malfoy’s life had spun out of control without his consent, for how Malfoy tried to keep what little control he had left without showing an ounce of strain in public. Even if Harry might have been embracing Malfoy for selfish reasons, Harry knew Malfoy was suffering, and he genuinely wanted to relieve that.

He wondered if the boy had ever been hugged in his life. He found himself feeling rather sad at the thought that maybe he hadn’t.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy questioned weakly.

“You’re not alone,” Harry replied after a moment, hoping that he would just accept what he was trying to do, but Malfoy only stiffened further.

“What – what kind of answer is that?” Malfoy asked under his breath. He was tightly strung, his back muscles vibrating beneath Harry’s hands.

“I'm saying it’s all right to be afraid,” Harry pressed, although he felt as though he was saying it for his own benefit as much as Malfoy’s.

“I’m not afraid,” Malfoy retorted, like a child denying that he was tired when his parents had ordered him to bed. Harry didn't believe the words for a second.

Harry released a breath and he slid a hand along Malfoy's spine. To his surprise, the muscles beneath his fingertips unwound a bit and Malfoy slumped forward. Harry ran a thumb across the nape of Malfoy's neck.

“You say there is a logic to Voldemort’s insanity, but in a way, isn’t that more frightening?” Harry murmured.

There was a long silence, but Malfoy released a warm breath against Harry’s ear.

“How do you mean?” Malfoy questioned, his voice rough and quiet.

“I’ve been in his mind, I know how it works,” Harry replied. “His thoughts aren't scattered or erratic. His mind is intensely focused to the point of obsession. He’s capable of thinking through problems and creating elaborate schemes, but all he wants is death. All he feels is hatred. He has no sense of empathy. It has nothing to do with an ideology about purebloods and their hegemony. He is a man driven by paranoia and bigotry, and he is only obsessed with power and death.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything. He was resting his chin against Harry’s shoulder now, and they both let the silence of the tower wash over them. The stillness was only interrupted every once and a while by a small night breeze that carried up to them from the grounds and passed through the open fenestration.

“Why do you follow him?” Harry’s voice, though quiet, sliced through the silence.

Malfoy went rigid, but Harry moved his hands to soothe him on impulse, pressing his calloused fingers against his clothed spine again. Malfoy relaxed, and Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat, soaking in Malfoy's warmth. 

“I follow him…because I agree with his principle world view.”

“If not his methods,” Harry finished, and after a pause Malfoy nodded against his shoulder. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“I have no choice.” Malfoy’s tone was bitter, but resolute.

Harry remembered Dumbledore’s advice to him in his first year. “We all have a choice.”

“Not when every other path leads to death,” Malfoy replied. “And I don’t expect that either you or that fool Dumbledore could protect me, so don’t even suggest it.”

“Dumbledore would protect you, though,” Harry insisted. “If you joined our side. He’s powerful. You know he's the only wizard in our world Voldemort fears.”

“Nothing would protect me from my father.”

“He would kill you?”

“For his master?” Malfoy huffed out a laugh. “Yes.”

Harry was overcome by the futility of Malfoy’s situation. He couldn’t fathom the depths of despair one would have to navigate in order to acknowledge their own father would kill them for political gain.

“That’s sad,” Harry observed bluntly. He took in a breath and licked his lips. He didn't really think and in retrospect it was a stupid move, but he turned his head and touched his lips lightly to the shell of Malfoy’s ear. 

Malfoy shuddered and Harry pulled away as if burned, but Malfoy didn't make a move. He seemed frozen, his chest still against Harry's as if he was holding his breath. Harry eyed him and Malfoy looked away but not before Harry caught the flush of his pale cheeks, obvious even in the low light. Harry turned his head, cautiously, heart hammering in his chest, and did it again, this time lower, where the skin was softer at the lobe of Malfoy's ear. Malfoy sucked in a breath but he didn't push him away. He just stood there.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, but his fingers grasped Harry's arms. It was as if he was waiting for Harry to make his move. A shiver of anticipation passed through Harry and he let out a slow breath, steeling himself for what he wanted to do, had wanted to do for at least the past month, perhaps longer. Maybe Malfoy had wanted it too. It was hard to believe but...he just had to do it and not think too much on it or else he would lose his nerve. Slowly, he pressed his lips to Malfoy’s warm skin, this time just below his jaw.

Malfoy shivered, his pulse fluttering against Harry’s lips.

Harry lowered to the warm column of Malfoy’s throat, dizzy with nerves and want, and pressed his lips there slowly, opening his mouth to suck lightly at the skin.

“Pot…ter…” Malfoy sounded strangled, his voice hitching between syllables as his fingers clenched around Harry's arms. It shot a jolt of desire straight to his gut.

Harry clutched his back and traced the taut tendons of Malfoy’s throat up to his jaw then nipped at the flesh there with his teeth.

He didn't know what he was doing. He could only follow his instincts, but Malfoy arched against him, and his hands lowered to grip Harry’s sides, holding him in place as if he was afraid Harry might stop. Harry bit back a moan.

“You don’t have to be alone,” Harry breathed against his cheek, his own voice rough with want and conviction, because he had to make him see.   “I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

He wanted Malfoy to trust him, even though he himself had no idea how he would protect him, he could barely protect himself. But he found he wanted to save Malfoy more than anything.

“Like you could do anyth –” Malfoy panted, but he couldn’t finish the words because Harry swallowed them with a kiss.

Harry moved his lips against Malfoy’s clumsily, his thoughts a jumble in his head. But Malfoy didn’t push him away as he’d half feared he would. In fact, Malfoy's lips went pliant against his and opened to his searching tongue. Harry gasped into his mouth just as Malfoy let a sharp breath out through his nose. He curled his fingers into Malfoy's soft hair and guided him into a better angle.

Malfoy nipped at his lower lip in answer and all of Harry’s concerns blasted away. He was lost, Malfoy’s lips moving against his with such an unexpected burst of passion that both he and Malfoy were reduced to panting against each other’s mouths, their hands gripping each other tightly.

“Draco…” Harry gasped once they pulled apart, for the first time saying the Slytherin’s given name.

Draco’s usually cold gray eyes were slightly glazed, his now swollen lips parted with each breath he took.

Harry swallowed at the sight, his heart beat hammering in his chest, and lowering his hands to tremble against Draco’s back.

“What are you waiting for?” Draco asked haughtily, but his voice was low and hoarse.

Harry moved forward at Draco’s beckoning look, tasting his lips once again before trailing his open mouth down along Draco’s jaw to his throat. He’d wanted this for so long. He’d been dreaming of it perpetually for the past month, and a great surge of something heady coursed through him as Draco responded with soft gasps and clenching fingers. As Draco gasped and moaned it wasn’t long before his movements became frantic.  

As if possessed, Harry's fingers fumbled with the buttons of Draco’s robes until they were pushed off and forgotten on the cold cobblestones. He vaguely realized that Draco had helped him remove them with just as much frenetic abandon, and Harry coughed out a laugh, but Draco was already unbuttoning his shirt and Harry pushed forward to taste the salt on Draco’s exposed collarbone

Draco moaned in encouragement, his hands sliding up to bury in Harry’s mussed black hair and gripped his scalp so hard it was almost painful. Harry groaned, helpless against the sudden surge of desire that pounded through him. He wanted to do anything for him and to him.

Harry slid down, his tongue tasting the trembling skin of Draco’s stomach, flat and pale in the moonlight, and he fumbled with the fly of Draco's trousers. He became frustrated when his fingers kept on slipping on the buttons as Draco’s fingers carded through his hair, but eventually, he managed to unbutton them all and pulled down the trousers and briefs beneath just enough.

Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s hips enough to bruise as he stared, and the hands in his hair tensed but didn't tug him away. Draco’s cock was already hard, the head already glistening and wet, and Harry’s heart nearly stopped at the thought of what he was about to do. He glanced up at Draco and Draco's expression was like a punch to the gut, his lips parted and pupils blown as he gazed at Harry with an expression akin to awe. Reverently and a bit shakily, Harry leaned forward without thought, never breaking eye contact as he wrapped his lips around the head of Draco's leaking cock. The bitter musk of Draco’s precome hit the tip of his tongue as he lapped at it, and he moaned.

Draco hissed above him and his hips rocked forward needily, but Harry struggled to steady him so that he didn’t choke as he carefully moved his head forward to take more of Draco in. He swirled his tongue along the vein on the underside of Draco’s cock just the way Harry knew he would like it himself, and Draco groaned and whimpered restrainedly as if he was trying to hold his cries of pleasure back. Harry simply pushed forward, determined to hear more. He wanted to make Draco writhe and whimper just like that until his control broke and he wasn't the scared and cold, pure blood son of a death eater. Until he wasn't anything but here with Harry, no walls to erect between them. No war to age them past their years.

He sucked, Draco's cock heavy against his tongue, and Draco thrust forward with a cry, trembling, his thighs shaking. "Potter -!"

Harry hummed and sucked harder, and Draco tensed until he was coming into his mouth. Having only fantasized about doing this before without any practical experience, Harry tried his best to swallow it all, but some inevitably dribbled down the sides of his chin as Draco’s twitching cock grew soft on his tongue.

Harry pulled away, panting, and Draco collapsed shakily in front of him. Harry wiped at his mouth and stared at the sight of Draco sprawled out, skin flushed and gleaming with sweat. Harry lay down beside him and Draco watched him, expression inscrutable. Harry didn't look away as he lay a hand over Draco's stomach then ran it along his rib cage until he curled it around Draco's jaw.

He leaned forward and kissed him again, Draco's lips just as pliant as they had been before, until the boy pressed forward and rolled Harry onto his back. Harry moaned into his mouth and Draco lowered his head to lick down the column of Harry's throat.

“Draco…” Harry gasped, sounding wrecked as the boy found one of his nipples with his teeth and bit before soothing the hurt with his tongue. “I –”

Draco’s hand found the buttons of Harry’s trousers and undid them faster than Harry had with his, his warm sweaty hand reaching in and wrapping around Harry’s erection with disarmingly confident ease.

Draco moved up and kissed him again, swallowing Harry’s grateful gasps and moans as his fist moved around his cock faster and faster. The friction was almost unbearable with long, even strokes and Draco panting into his ear, until all Harry could do was shudder and grab aimlessly at Draco’s shoulders and back as the tension built. With a pleasured groan, Harry’s back arched and he came hard, white filling his vision for a moment at the height of his ecstasy.

It was pure bliss.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was sprawled out on the stone floor, Draco spread out along his side, and platinum blond head resting upon his still heaving chest. Harry wrapped an arm around Draco’s clothed back and caressed it. He felt tired, but sated, and strangely complete.   He almost couldn’t believe it had actually happened, and he didn’t want this moment to end, but he knew it would have to sooner or later.

“Why did you do that, Potter?” Draco finally broke the silence, but he didn’t move otherwise, his hoarse voice vibrating against Harry’s clothed chest.

“I wanted to,” Harry replied honestly, although he now felt exposed and vulnerable.

“For how long?”

“A while,” Harry admitted tentatively.

Draco finally turned his head and propped himself up so that he was looking down at Harry from above, his gaze unreadable. “Don’t think this has changed my mind.”

Harry stared into Draco’s eyes, which weren’t quite as cold as before, not understanding at first what Draco was talking about, and he absently brought a hand up to run his fingers through his blond locks. “Will I still see you tomorrow night?”

Draco sighed and looked away at nothing. Harry took that time to appreciate the way the moonlight caressed the boy’s cheeks. Draco noticed his gaze and flushed just enough that even the moonlight couldn’t hide it.

“Perhaps,” he replied reluctantly.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Harry stated hazily, his usual inhibitions completely lost in the afterglow.

“Of course I am,” Draco replied arrogantly, although he looked a mixture of embarrassed and pleased.

Harry smiled softly and pulled Draco down for another wet kiss.

“I’m still going to protect you, you know.” He stated with conviction when Draco pulled away. “Whatever you choose.”

Draco didn’t reply to that.


	3. The Sorrow in Separation

The next morning at breakfast, Harry tried to ignore the way Pansy Parkinson openly leered at Draco as he held court at the Slytherin table.

The impact of what they had done the night before had only just begun to settle upon Harry’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. He had become simultaneously elated and frustrated at the realization that no matter what he may have thought he wanted, no matter what had transpired between them, he and Draco could never have an open relationship resembling the one that they shared in the Tower. The glare of the sun and the bustle of the school halls washed away any semblance of the fantasy world they had both created for themselves in the dead of night, and reality had mercilessly crashed down upon them with the dawn of every new day.

He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Draco was a Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater. Every reason for them to become more amicable than hated rivals in any capacity was ultimately inconsequential. Harry might have been able to accept this harsh truth but for the gnawing sense of dread that consumed him at the very thought of ceasing their nightly meetings.

Harry tried to catch Draco’s eye, but the boy was ignoring him completely per usual.

Harry turned back to his food, but was caught by Hermione’s suspicious look as she sat across from him at the table. He looked away immediately, busying himself with stuffing some bacon into his mouth. Luckily, Ron engaged him in a conversation about the upcoming Inter-house snowball fight that had been announced earlier in the week by Dumbledore and she never had a chance to question him about his strange behavior.

It was Thursday and classes were uneventful. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Charms with the Ravenclaws. Harry barely ate at dinner as he eyed Pansy leaning too closely over Draco and touch him on the shoulder or whisper into his ear. Harry struggled to not do anything rash like run over to the Slytherin table and tell Pansy off. He suspected Draco would not be amused.

That night, he went to the hidden tower and waited for Draco, but four hours passed and Harry finally could no longer deny that, for the first time since their nightly rendezvous had begun, Draco wasn’t coming. Feeling foolish and bereft, Harry could barely fall asleep once he had fallen into his bed, and when he finally did, it was fitful.

The next morning he was up earlier than his dorm mates, staring out the window to the grounds when Ron finally roused himself and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Alright, Harry?” Ron asked, giving him a tired smile.

Harry attempted a grin and nodded, before finally moving to get dressed as Ron ambled off to the bathroom. Harry took a shower after Ron exited and dressed in front of the mirror.

As usual, his hair was untamable, but he was bothered by that fact more so than ever before. He scowled and the mirror admonished him, “you’ll never get a girlfriend with that face, dear!”

Harry could hardly get himself to care. He had Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins that morning.

Harry tried not to let it bother him that Draco was ignoring him. After all, that was normal. Draco and he had been studiously ignoring each other in public for two months now, and he didn’t know why he’d expected that to change. However, reasoning this way didn’t stop him from feeling hurt and frustrated by the treatment, especially since Draco had been absent in the tower the night before.

He stole glances at Draco every chance he got, much to the detriment of his focus, and much to Ron’s misfortune, who was his partner in catching Billywigs. As a result, Ron was stung multiple times and reduced to giggling and levitating uncontrollably for the rest of the lesson.  

After, the effects of the Billywigs finally left Ron’s system and he was once again planted firmly on the ground with an intense scowl painting his face, Harry couldn't help watching Draco leave the grounds beside Pansy and Blaise, his insides tightening with jealousy.   He didn’t even notice the strange looks Hermione was shooting him as she comforted Ron, until she caught his elbow the moment they were back inside the school.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered to him, sparing a glance at Ron who was only a few paces ahead talking to Neville. “What’s going on between you and Draco Malfoy?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Harry denied quickly – too quickly, if Hermione’s suspicious expression was any indication. He tried not to look at her. She had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts when his eyes were locked with hers.

“I hope you two aren’t fighting again. It’s no use obsessing over him. He’s not worth it, Harry.”

Harry was shaking his head in denial, if only she knew, but she couldn’t press it any further anyway when they entered the great hall for lunch, because Ron fell back into step beside them.

“I hope we’ve got some shepherd’s pie on the menu. After those Billywigs, I’m hungry enough to eat a hippogriff!” Ron exclaimed.

Harry lethargically pushed his food around his plate, ignoring Hermione’s quizzical stare, and trying his best to ignore the way Draco was ignoring him in turn. He barely heard Hermione as she informed him that some Seventh year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students had agreed to teach the DA in his stead. Some lower year students had already signed up for the meetings. Hermione looked proud of her successful patronage of the DA issue, but Harry could only smile at her restrainedly at best.

That night, yet again, Harry spent hours in the tower alone. He rubbed at his eyes, knowing that he was bound to look terrible in the morning from lack of sleep, and barely caring. He was angry with Malfoy, but he was angrier with himself for pushing it as far as he had. He'd been afraid this would happen.  

He was so stupid.

Once in bed, he barely slept, blankly staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster and wondering if he would ever be able to stop obsessing over Malfoy. He finally fell asleep as sunlight crept through the window and he didn’t wake up until Ron shook him.

“You look like hell, mate.”

Harry sat up and put a hand through his messy hair. He didn’t even have the energy to glance at Ron as the boy watched him with a touch of concern; he _felt_ like hell. His voice was abnormally croaky when he spoke. “What time is it?”

“It’s noon,” Ron replied, tone a bit questioning as he sat back down on his bed across from Harry and watched him. Harry suddenly noticed that Ron was already dressed and all the other beds in the dorm were empty.

“Noon,” Harry repeated dully; he couldn’t even make it sound like a question. He was tired.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ron asked, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to act casual to cover his blatant concern. “Another nightmare?”

“No, it wasn’t Voldemort,” Harry sighed, getting to the point and saving his best mate the trouble.

“Good,” Ron replied and he looked relieved. “So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry shook his head, trying to look convincing. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Ron watched him for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and standing up. “Then get up and take a shower, mate. It’s almost lunch and there’s that inter-house snowball fight on the grounds after that. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to kick some Slytherin arse again!”

Harry smiled a bit, remembering how Ron had been going on and on about the snowball fight for a week since it had been announced by Dumbledore as a means to create more ‘inter-House interaction’.

Harry stood up and went to the window. It had indeed snowed more the night before. He hadn’t even noticed.

Harry noted with slight dismay that Malfoy wasn’t in the Great Hall when he entered for lunch. Although he realized belatedly that his shock was stupid, because Malfoy almost never attended lunch on weekends. It had been one of the many things about Malfoy that Harry had involuntarily learned after years of surveillance.   He couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that the boy wasn’t there as either way it left him feeling slightly hollow.

The entire Great Hall was noisy and unusually boisterous. Harry sat quietly, feeling very little excitement at all even as Seamus patted him on the back while telling a joke to the rest of the Sixth year Gryffindors about pounding the Slytherins into the snow. Harry didn't exactly have the energy to laugh, but he smiled for Seamus's benefit.

Harry hadn’t planned to eat, but Hermione insisted he take some bangers and mash, and she watched him until he swallowed it all and washed it down with a goblet-full of pumpkin juice. She smiled at him when he’d finished, like a concerned mother would a malnourished child, and he smiled back tightly. He didn’t want her to worry. This was his burden to bear, because of his stupid mistake.

He idly wondered when he would stop caring about Malfoy – and he almost couldn’t bear to think that it could be ‘if’ instead of ‘when’.

“Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I think it’s about time to show those Slytherin tossers what’s what!” Seamus suddenly announced, standing up from the table and flashing a victorious pose. The entire table erupted with a loud and cheery, “here!here!” followed by a flurry of movement as a bulk of the Gryffindors got up and made to leave the Great Hall for the grounds.

Harry remained sitting, staring at his plate morosely, but Ron pulled him by the arm until he stumbled out of his chair. He caught a flash of Hermione rolling her eyes in exasperation, before she closed the large tome she had been reading and got up as well.

“We’re going to beat those slimy sods again, I can taste it!” Ron exclaimed, obliviously dragging a reluctant Harry along as they burst out of the front hall and into the snowy grounds.

Hermione followed at a slower pace, watching Harry closely so that Harry had to work to actually look enthusiastic even though he would rather drop to the ground right there. He was tired and drained. His legs felt like jelly beneath him as he walked along just behind Ron.

However, when they made it to the Quidditch pitch, he spotted a familiar blond head of hair amongst the gathering crowd and he stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to be there, which in retrospect was quite stupid because Malfoy was just as competitive, if not more so, than most of the students in the school. 

Harry watched as Malfoy laughed at something Blaise Zabini said. Then Pansy Parkinson strolled over and leaned against Malfoy possessively and Harry had to look away.

He had to speak to Malfoy. Malfoy could ignore him all he wanted, but Harry wanted to at least hear why. If Draco was ignoring him because he wanted to or if he had to, he had to know.

Harry joined the rest of the Gryffindors on their side of the pitch, facing the Slytherins on the other. The Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and younger Gryffindors and Slytherins were waiting in the stands, along with some professors, including Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore.

“Right, let’s give them hell!” Seamus shouted to the rest of the Gryffindors who ranged from Third years and up, making him the de-facto captain of their group. The rest of the Gryffindors roared their approval, except for Hermione who was standing near the back and still looking rather reluctant.

Harry roared the loudest of all and Ron shot him a grin. Harry barely noticed, his gaze was already locked upon Malfoy across the way, flanked by the imposing figures of Crabbe and Goyle. Draco seemed to notice him, and Harry nodded. Draco looked away, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Ready?” Dumbledore's voice echoed across the pitch, his voice magically enhanced by a Sonorous charm. “Set?”

All the Gryffindors pulled out their wands and pointed it at the snow beneath them. The Slytherins mimicked their movements across the way, scowling and jeering back appropriately.

“GO!”

Suddenly the air was filled with roars and snowballs as the students flicked their wands and sent newly packed snow in every direction with levitation charms.

Harry ran forward through the barrage, only one target in his sights. Only moments later, Ron fell back a few meters when a snowball the size of a small cow barreled into him and sent him sprawling backward. Momentarily glancing back to make sure Ron was all right and seeing the boy sit up quickly and furiously flick a snow ball at his attackers, Harry sidestepped and dodged attacks from every angle. He flicked out a Protego when three snowballs headed his way all at once. They smashed against his shield and he used the shower of snowflakes to cover his next moves as he dashed forward.

He saw Malfoy, who’s back was turned toward him as the boy sent a particularly large snow ball careening toward a Third year Gryffindor. Harry readied himself, breaking through the cloud at just the right moment and leaping at Malfoy, who had only just turned around too late to see him flying in the air toward him.

They collided and tumbled back a few metres into a snow bank so that they were both completely buried and hidden from view.

Malfoy struggled and thrashed, but Harry had landed on top of him and he worked hard to capture Malfoy’s wrists and keep them pinned above the boy’s head, immobilizing his wand in the process. Malfoy tried to kick him where it would have hurt badly, but Harry pinned his legs with his thighs and sat down with all of his weight.

“Potter!” Malfoy shouted, still struggling in futility, his silver eyes shooting daggers and his teeth bared like a distressed house cat. “What are you doing?!”

“I just want to talk!” Harry replied, straining to keep control.

“Well, I don't,” Malfoy snapped, and he arched his back, sending them both tumbling until Malfoy was suddenly on top, the end of his wand poking into the soft flesh of Harry’s throat.

“Why not?” Harry shouted before rolling his hips upward as well, catching Malfoy off guard and sending him tumbling further into the snow to his left. Harry took the opportunity and leapt on top of the boy’s back, until they were laying sprawled one on top of the other, panting.

Malfoy was lying flat on his stomach, his hands above his head, face turned to the side. Harry was lying on top of him lengthwise, his hands resting in the snow on either side of Malfoys body, his cheek resting on one of Malfoy’s shoulder blades. It was quite a suggestive position, but Harry didn't move.

By now they had hollowed out a good space within the snow bank from their wrestling match, but they were still relatively hidden from view. Cries and roars from the battle outside echoed through their tiny space. It was the only other sound accompanying their harsh breathing.

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy finally murmured in defeat once he’d managed to get his breathing under control.

“You,” Harry replied unthinkingly, but he stiffened self-consciously at the same point that Malfoy had jerked with surprise as the word echoed around them.

“You can’t have me,” Malfoy retorted after a moment, and Harry shook his head.

“It's not like that,” Harry stated tiredly, and he sat up, blocking their only exit out of the snow bank.

Malfoy turned over gingerly when he realized Harry had given him room for it, a frown on his face as he glared up at him. His blond hair was wet and matted into the snow beneath him, almost the same color. If it weren’t for the flush of his cheeks, he’d almost fade back into the snow. “One hand job and a blow job and you think you own me?”

“No,” Harry retorted, flustered. “I just don't like being ignored.”

“Oh, so it’s attention you want?” Malfoy sneered, his eyes narrowing. “How typical of Harry-the-boy-who-lived-Potter, center of all the known universe, and darling of the wizarding world!”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Harry spat, frustrated. “Why do you have to be such a prat?”

“Well, it seems you didn’t get the owl, Potter. I’ve always been a prat for as long as you could remember, why would I stop now?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Harry began sarcastically. “Maybe because you were at least halfway decent for the _two bloody months_ we’d been speaking in the tower.”

“I can’t help it if you’ve mistakenly thought I was nice,” Malfoy retorted, looking truly angry now. “I hadn’t even wanted you there in the first place. The Room of Requirement was supposed to be private!”

“Then why didn’t you just kick me out?” Harry pressed incredulously. “You had loads of opportunities to hex me and make me want to be anywhere but there in the tower with you.”

“I wasn’t aware you would become such a nuisance!” Malfoy snapped. “I didn’t suspect you’d –”

“I know!” Harry retorted, his hands coming down on either side of Malfoy’s head and burying into the snow. A wind of magic whipped up around Harry’s form before he could rein it in, sending loose snow swirling around him before it stopped and slowly fluttered back to the ground. Malfoy went silent, much to Harry’s relief, although the compliance was probably more due to shock than anything else. "I know."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them when he felt calmer. “Is that why you've been ignoring me?”

“Of course,” Malfoy replied coldly.

The words stung more than Harry thought they would. He should have expected them, and he had been stupid for hoping differently. “F-fine, I'm sorry…just forget about what happened…we could just –”

“ _What?”_ Malfoy interrupted scathingly. “Go back to being _friends_? We were never bloody friends, Potter!”

Harry stared down at Malfoy, incredulous. “You’re such a bloody liar, you know that?”

“Fuck you, Potter!”

“You wish,” Harry retorted.

“No, that’s all your sick fantasy, Potter. I want no part in it.”

“That’s not the way it seemed in the tower,” Harry retorted, daring Malfoy to refute him. He remembered the way Malfoy had reacted that night, how he had look at Harry as he'd - No one could just fake that level of reciprocation, especially someone as prissy and tightly wound as Malfoy.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Malfoy frowned, but he suddenly looked a lot less certain and Harry only became more convinced that he was right.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Malfoy’s. He waited for Malfoy to push him off, but the boy only went rigid. When Harry pulled back, he stopped only inches from the scowling boy’s face. “Why didn't you push me away then?”

Draco stared at him, his lips pursed. “I couldn't,” he muttered, his tone bitter. Harry didn't miss the way his breath stuttered in the cold air between them.

Harry leaned down and kissed him again, this time slower, and the other boy’s breath hitched conspicuously. Harry let himself smile a bit as he pulled away, and he could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s true, and neither do you.”

He leaned back in again, but hands came up against his chest, halting him. Harry looked down at Malfoy questioningly.

“Don’t,” Malfoy said, but his coldness melted away and he was left looking both tired and disappointed. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, his voice softer, moving his left hand to caress the wet strands of Draco’s hair in the snow with his fingers.

“Don’t be an idiot. You should know why.” And there was a definite edge to Draco’s voice as he spoke.

Harry frowned. “I said I would protect you.”

“I don’t want protection,” Draco retorted. “And besides, I don’t trust that you are powerful enough to do the job.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Harry stated with conviction, his jaw tightening. “You won’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, well that just makes it all better, doesn’t it?” Draco sneered sarcastically. “I was so stupid to doubt your abilities when you could proclaim it with such confidence.”

“I’m being serious, Draco,” Harry retorted, even though at the back of his mind he knew he was acting more confident than he actually was.

“So am I,” Draco snapped, the sneer forgotten. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe you are capable of taking down the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard of our time, a man who has already come back from the dead and is for all intents and purposes immortal, just because you say you will. I know you’re a Gryffindor, but your naivete is astounding.”

Harry frowned and his hands fisted in the snow on either side of Draco’s head.

“I know how powerful he is, but I’ve been chosen to kill him,” Harry retorted, and a new, deeper anger invaded him, an intense weight that had never truly left him since the previous year became more pronounced upon his shoulders so that he nearly couldn’t breathe. “If I’m the only one who can kill him…if that’s the way it has to be. Then…I have to do it, or else…”

Draco watched him as Harry trailed off, and Harry let out a trembling breath, trying to calm himself down. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. He’d been trying so hard since he’d found out not to dwell on it at all. It was painful and made him feel more helpless than ever in the face of it, and he knew that was all wrong. He should be feeling confident. He should be feeling like he had a chance. On his good days, he liked to think he did. He told himself there was no way he could lose. He just couldn’t let it happen. But the pressure and doubt were still there, nagging at him beneath the surface.

“What do you mean, you’ve been chosen?” Draco questioned into the silence.

“It’s a prophesy,” Harry replied roughly. “It’s what Voldemort was after at the Department of Mysteries last year. It broke, but Dumbledore had the memory. It said that it was either me or him. I have to do it or no one can.”

“Then you can still fail,” Draco whispered after a moment, and he looked both disappointed and resigned. “The prophesy doesn’t guarantee that you will succeed, only that the Dark Lord has a chance to destroy his greatest threat.”

Harry frowned, but he didn’t have anything to say to that. He knew, at base, that Draco was right – he had known it from the start. So he just sat there glaring at nothing in particular as Draco watched him. Eventually, he sighed, the familiar helplessness filling him to the brim.

“At least come back to the tower every once and a while. I promise I won’t…” Harry’s voice trailed off.

“All right,” Draco murmured, and Harry looked at him in surprise. “But it’s only because I miss the atmosphere. It has nothing to do with the company or lack thereof.”

Harry nodded, allowing a small smile to tug at his lips as Draco looked away from him uncomfortably.

“HARRY! HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU?” Harry stiffened as Ron’s voice echoed through the icy walls of their impromptu hide-away.

“The Weasel’s missing his Potty.” Draco smirked at his own childish joke and Harry flicked him on the temple in exasperation.

Harry ignored Draco’s squeaked, ‘ow!’ and the scowl that accompanied it, and sighed, reluctant to leave.   But he sat up a bit and slowly maneuvered his way out of the snow bank.

He was grateful to see that Draco hadn’t followed when Ron bounded up to him, followed by Hermione, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. It would have looked rather awkward if they knew that both he and Draco were still in the snow bank together so long after the match had ended.

He looked around. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were in the middle of their match a few yards away, but he couldn’t see other Gryffindors or Slytherins, not even Draco’s friends. Harry frowned at that.

“Hey,” Harry greeted, working to sound casual.

“Merlin, what happened to you, Harry?” Ron exclaimed. “The match has been over for ages!”

“I was er…knocked out,” Harry explained lamely, gesturing vaguely toward the hole in the snow bank. “I only just came to.”

“Poor luck, Harry,” Dean stated in sympathy, every other boy murmured their agreement.

They seemed to buy Harry’s story easily, except for Hermione who was watching him with narrowed eyes, the cogs in her mind obviously working furiously.

“What happened? Who won?” Harry asked, avoiding her gaze, and looking to Ron instead.

“Well, without Malfoy to order them around, Crabbe and Goyle were quickly taken out, leaving the Slytherin team without much to work with. So, naturally, we won,” Ron explained, until his eyes widened in thought. “Wait a tic, where did that ferrety-ponce get off to anyway?”

No one else seemed to have an answer, they all looked confused, and Harry remained silent, working his expression into one of innocent befuddlement. He didn’t dare look at Hermione. “Well, I’m glad we won.”

“It was right craic, that!” Seamus agreed in his thick Irish brogue. “They didn’t stand a chance anyway. But now I’m hungry. It’s off to lunch!”

He put an arm around an amused Dean Thomas’s shoulders and the two practically skipped back to the castle.

“I seriously wonder about those two,” Ron observed as they watched Seamus slap Dean playfully on the arse before the two slipped through the front doors. “Do you think…?” Then Ron shook his head as if dislodging leaves in his hair. “Nah.”

Harry just remained silent on the subject. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he _did_ think something more was going on between their two dorm mates. Ron’s quick denial, however, made Harry pause. Not that Harry had ever thought of telling his best mate about his recently discovered leanings, given that those leanings were quite squarely focused on Ron’s most hated enemy, but it would have been nice to know that Ron would accept his general orientation. Either way, it was a moot point. He could never tell Ron, or anyone else for that matter, what was really going on anyway.

Eventually, they all made their way up to the castle at a much more leisurely pace. Hermione didn’t say anything all the way back, which made Harry more anxious than he cared to admit, but he didn’t speak to her and he made it into the Great Hall without any accusations whatsoever.

Shortly thereafter, Draco Malfoy finally emerged from the snow bank, brushing the snow off of his robes and combing some fingers futilely through his wet hair before traipsing back to the castle alone. Never once did he notice the eyes that followed him as he went.

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry arrived at the tower that night, it was disappointingly empty. So he sat down on the ledge of one of the open arches and waited. A thrill of nerves had effectively tied his stomach into a knot even before he’d left Gryffindor, but now it was all he could do not to wring his hands in anxiety at the thought that Draco wouldn’t actually come.

Minutes passed in absolute loneliness as snow began to fall on the grounds, and Harry was just about to jump up and pace a groove into the stone floor when Draco’s familiar footsteps echoed in the stairwell leading up to the tower. Harry foolishly ran a hand through his hair, as if that could tame it when hours combing it in front of the mirror had not, but then Draco emerged from the stairs, his features highlighted by what little light reflected up into the tower from the grounds.

“Potter,” Draco nodded to him stiffly, and Harry nodded in turn, suddenly unsure what to do with himself.

Harry opted for remaining in his sitting position upon the impost as Draco walked over to him and settled beside him. Draco went silent and watched the grounds, his gaze never straying from the view of snow falling. Harry watched distractedly as a gust of wind blew through Draco’s locks and left a cluster of snowflakes settling and melting into his hair, but then he managed to shake himself from staring and looked down at the grounds as well.

The snow was falling heavily now, the grounds weighed down with it, and the lake looked glassy and still. It was ethereally silent, and Harry began to wonder uncomfortably how he might start up a conversation. When only a week ago it had been so easy, the prospect of speaking with Draco now seemed so utterly daunting. His mind ran through a list of topics he might pursue, ranging from professional Quidditch to their latest Potions assignments, but as the silence stretched on, it was harder to gather the nerve to break it.

Just as he was weighing the pros and cons of discussing how good the spotted dick they had been served for dessert in the Great Hall that night had been, Harry jumped in fright at a loud noise.

He glanced over to see Draco rubbing his nose ruefully, as if he hadn’t expected it either, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from snorting in amusement.

The boy glared at him and pulled his hand away from his nose hastily, looking scandalized, and that just made Harry’s amusement grow. Draco looked cute, like a kitten that wasn’t aware what a sneeze was or how to compose itself after experiencing something so absolutely violent and shocking.

“What’s so funny, Potter?” Draco snapped, appearing highly miffed as Harry’s laughter simmered to a low chuckle.

“You,” Harry replied with amusement. “One would think you’d never sneezed before.”

Draco glared at him, but the effect was softened by the pout that pulled at his lips. “I try not to do it in public.   It’s undignified.”

“Right,” Harry replied with a smile. Only Draco Malfoy would attempt to control bodily functions as involuntary as sneezing.

Draco scowled, and gestured with one hand as if indicating their surroundings with distaste. “It’s so bloody cold in here.”

“Would you like my cloak?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling protective as the other boy crossed his arms and shivered to prove his point.

“Are you mad, Potter?” Draco snapped back. “I’m not going to watch as you freeze to death.”

Harry smiled, a nice pleasant warmth spreading throughout his body despite the chill in the air. “Are you concerned for me, Draco?”

“No, of course not,” Draco rolled his eyes, although he looked away as his cheeks flushed conspicuously. “The Dark Lord wants you alive and he’d have my head on a platter if I’d knowingly let you die in my company.”

“Right,” Harry stated amenably, his spark of amusement failing to go out even at the mention of Voldemort. “Although I didn’t mean the cloak I’m wearing. I was referring to my other cloak.”

“What other cloak?” Draco’s gaze snapped back to him, clearly intrigued despite himself. He was glancing around the tower suspiciously.

Harry smiled and waited for Draco’s reaction as he pulled out the invisibility cloak from his book bag. He was rewarded with Draco’s pale eyebrows shooting up into his hair as Harry unfurled it and the bottom half of his body went invisible.

“Oh, this explains a lot,” Draco murmured bitterly, his lips pulled down into a frown. “All these years I’ve been attempting to stalk a ghost.”

“You were stalking me?” Harry asked with no small amount of pleasure. “Do tell.”

Draco suddenly looked flustered, which was confirmation enough. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Potter. I was merely _monitoring_ you, making sure you weren’t breaking any rules.”

“More like making sure you caught me breaking them,” Harry snorted with a grin.

“Yes, well…” Draco stiffened self-consciously, obviously a bit irked by Harry’s good humor, and he hastily schooled his features into something resembling arrogant confidence. “Now I know you most certainly were breaking them; probably gallivanting about with your sycophantic friends all over the school.”

“Draco,” Harry stated with mock gravity, leaning forward a bit to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ve been meeting up here in the tower past curfew for months. I think it’s been established that neither of us are strangers to breaking the rules.”

Draco glared at him, but didn’t retort.

They sat like that for a moment, before Harry realized their proximity and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s eyes darted once again to look out at the grounds.

“So, do you want to wear it or not?” Harry asked, raising his invisibility cloak to offer it to Draco.

Draco stared at him for a moment, his eyes a bit wider than usual, before he seemed to remember himself and sighed melodramatically. “Fine, if you insist.” Although he took the offered cloak stiffly as if he couldn’t believe Harry didn’t have an ulterior motive.

Harry could understand the sentiment. After all, his invisibility cloak was one of his few prized possessions, and he would surely only offer it to those he trusted. He wasn’t quite sure if he trusted Draco, per se, but the desire for Draco to stay with him in the tower and not freeze to death far outweighed his desire to protect his cloak from getting nicked. Not that he thought Draco would do that, in any case.

When Draco wrapped the cloak around himself, Harry was left gazing at the other boy’s pale face floating in space. Harry smiled as Draco unconsciously burrowed his pointed chin into the folds of the cloak around his neck and sniffled with a twitch of his nose.

“What?” Draco was watching him suspiciously once he’d gotten himself situated.

“You look cute,” Harry observed bluntly, and it made him vaguely wonder where all of his vaunted survival instincts had fled as the other boy stiffened noticeably. It was quite a feat, given that only his pale face was visible.

Draco’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing tellingly, before he seemed to realize what he might look like and scowled instead. “Say that again and I’ll make sure you can never have children, Potter.”

Harry winced a bit, although that didn’t stop him from airily retorting, “Well, I think we can safely say due to recent events that me having children in future isn’t exactly likely.”

Draco made some sort of strangled noise at the back of his throat, but he didn’t say anything else before promptly turning and staring out at the grounds. Harry smiled at him, his enjoyment at teasing Draco making him feel better than any time in recent memory.

“Are you still cold?” Harry asked, sitting next to Draco now so that their shoulders just barely touched.

“I’m fine,” Draco replied, determinedly not looking at him as he leaned on his visible hands and gazed through the archway to the grounds.

Harry placed a hand on Draco’s left one and the other boy started. Harry frowned. “You’re hands are freezing.”

“I’ll live,” Draco snapped back, but he didn’t remove his hand from beneath Harry’s.

Harry rubbed his thumb along Draco’s pinky finger in an attempt to warm it and Draco didn’t stop him. Although, the boy wasn’t looking at him at all and Harry was sure his shoulders would look slightly stiff underneath the invisibility cloak.

Harry shook his head and pulled Draco’s freezing hand into both of his, rubbing it between his palms. Draco finally looked back at him in alarm, but he still didn’t move to pull his hand away. Harry sent him a shaky smile, then moved the pale hand up to his mouth to blow on it. He could feel Draco stiffen and the boy’s breath hitched.

Harry stared at Draco who was now flushed and slightly anxious looking, but who hadn’t moved away or pulled his hand back. Harry’s heart pounded within his chest and he rashly brought one of the cold fingers to his mouth and kissed the tip.

“Har…Potter," Draco stuttered, appearing a strained mixture of shocked, scared, and pleasured all at once.

Harry pressed his lips to the tip of the next finger and Draco let out a strangled groan. With no warning, Draco grasped him by the back of his neck and pulled him forward. Harry gasped in surprise right until Draco's lips covered his in a hungry kiss.

Harry pulled away. "Are you - ?"

"Shut it," Draco admonished and he kissed him again, his pale hands moving around to the muscles of Harry’s back, kneading them at odd intervals.

Harry groaned and found a particularly sensitive spot on Draco’s jaw and throat to nip and suck.

“Draco,” Harry murmured breathily against his skin, vaguely aware in the back of his mind that he was parroting the nonsense one might find in every trashy romance novel beneath Lavender and Parvati’s beds, but by that point he was too far gone to care.

Draco merely grunted in response, his pale fingers digging into Harry’s lower back harder and scooting forward so that their bodies were flush against each other. Suddenly, Harry could feel the warmth of Draco’s well-toned form beneath the invisibility cloak and he groaned against Draco’s earlobe, which he had taken to nipping and licking.

Harry rolled his hips forward and was pleased to feel the hard evidence of Draco’s mutual interest. He pushed his hands beneath the invisibility cloak and ran them down the other’s slender body feverishly, only Draco’s lighter wool cloak and trousers standing between his roving fingers and the warm flesh beneath.

Draco gasped in response and he moved his hands over Harry’s rear. He pulled Harry forward abruptly so that they ground against each other again, and Harry heard Draco groan with him at the friction, their breathing equally quick and shallow.

Harry, for his part, wanted Draco’s clothing off. Now.

“I want to be inside you,” Harry blurted unthinkingly as his hands moved to unclasp Draco’s trouser belt, and that's when everything went wrong.

Harry fumbled a bit, before he realized that Draco’s hands were no longer clenching his arse or pulling him forward insistently, and he had no time to react as two hands landed on his chest and pushed him away.

Harry was sent sprawling off of the impost and onto the stone floor, breathing raggedly, as he belatedly looked up to see Draco standing over him with the invisibility cloak sitting in a crumpled heap at his feet. Draco looked absolutely horrified and enraged as he pointed his wand straight down at Harry’s forehead.

“Draco –” Harry began cautiously, but Draco cut him off with a fierce glare.

“Don’t touch me, Potter.” His voice was sharp, but trembling at the same time. “I told you not to touch me!”

Harry fought to catch his breath and had the grace to feel a stab of shame. Draco was right after all. He hadn’t followed the terms of their agreement. “I’m sorr –”

“I don’t want your apologies!” Draco retorted, looking for all the world like he wanted to hex Harry into oblivion. “The deal’s off.”

Harry jumped up as Draco turned around to leave, reaching out and catching the other boy at the elbow. “Draco…please stop…I –”

“Let go of me, Potter,” Draco stated warningly, fixing Harry with a glare so intense that Harry let go at the sight of it.

"Just listen to me, Draco. I’m sorry. You’re right I shouldn’t have –”

“I don’t want your excuses, Potter,” Draco snapped. “I obviously can’t trust you to keep your paws off of me, so –”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want it too, Malfoy,” Harry cut in, frowning. “You kissed me.”

“Shut up!” Draco retorted lamely, but his eyes flashed with anger. “How dare you –!”

“Please, Draco…just, don’t leave…” Harry knew that he sounded like he was begging but he didn’t care. “I – I won’t touch you anymore, if you don’t want me to.”

Draco just stood there glaring at him, but he also looked a bit bereft.

Harry held onto that observation like a lifeline, biting his lip as the Slytherin remained silent. “Draco?”

Draco didn’t say a word or look him in the eye, and Harry watched helplessly as the boy turned around and left the tower without so much as a backward glance.

Harry stood there for a long moment, as if Draco might just pop back in and declare it all a horrendous joke, but soon a chill wind carried a burst of snowflakes into the small tower and brought him back to his senses. Harry shivered from more than just the cold.


	4. Ominous Visions

Harry barely remembered getting back to his four-poster, his mind numb as it shut down with exhaustion the moment his head hit the pillow. He simply wanted to sleep and forget the fact that Draco might never talk to him again, but nothing could prepare him for the nightmare that greeted him.

He saw flashes of long platinum hair and a dark mark burning into pale skin. Voldemort was pleased and unbridled excitement ran through his veins like a heady drug. Platinum locks moved to reveal Lucius Malfoy’s smirking visage as he stood up from his bow, green light dancing ethereally across the bottom of features.

“My Lord, your spies are in place.”

“I see,” Voldemort hissed, his tone high and grating.

Voldemort looked down to the source of the green light and Harry’s subconscious recoiled at the sight. There, suspended right above a low green-glowing table was a woman’s nude body, her chest and stomach sliced open to reveal her organs, sinew, and bone as blood ran down her sides in rivulets. Voldemort chuckled and looked up at the woman’s face, and with horror, Harry saw her blinking over red, watery eyes. Her features were etched with terror, her mouth open in a silent scream.

She was being cut open alive.

A foreign surge of vindictive pleasure cut through his own horror, and Voldemort’s cold laugh sliced through the rancid air. “I am done with this one. Dispose of it.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius bowed again and Voldemort turned to leave the blackened room, but Lucius’s voice stopped him.   “My lord, there is something else you should know.”

“Yes?” Voldemort hissed, but he did not turn back to look upon Lucius as the man stood behind him.

“Ignus Mortis has just sent me an owl.”

“Very well.” Voldemort nodded, and Harry could feel his cold curiosity. “Meet me in the drawing room after your work here is done.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The woman’s blood curdling scream echoed across the walls as whatever spell that had silenced her was taken off, and Harry woke up gasping and trembling. He barely had time to roll over to the side of his bed before he began heaving.

Suddenly the room filled with light and frantic voices, and Harry winced against it all, still retching uncontrollably. His head hurt so much he was pretty sure his scar might be on fire, and belatedly he realized, as he scrubbed trembling hands against his face, that he was drenched in a cold sweat.

“Harry? Harry?!”

A warm hand landed on his back, and Harry took in a shaky breath, a lump pushing up his throat as his stomach tightened forebodingly. He heaved again, this time releasing nothing from his emptied stomach but water, and the hand on his back twitched.

“Blimey! What’s wrong with him?”

“One of you lot get Professor McGonagall, quickly!”

Someone left the room, their heavy footfalls conspicuously loud as Harry’s head throbbed with pain until they were out the door.

Harry heaved again, his vision getting hazy with sweat beading down his face and mingling with his tears. He could feel someone’s hand rubbing soothingly on his sweat-slicked back.

“It’s going to be all right, mate, I’m here. Just let it out.” Ron’s voice trembled slightly.

Harry heaved again, his throat now raw with bile and acid from his stomach, and he had to bite back a sob as a sharp pain lanced through his forehead that made him see stars.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen him,” Neville observed anxiously, his voice a bit obfuscated through the blood pounding in Harry’s ears.

Harry gasped in a breath and groaned when more pain pummeled his scar as if someone was taking a hammer to his forehead.

After the wave of pain passed, he was still trembling, but thankfully, he began to feel no further urge to retch. He rattled in some quick breaths, the pain in his scar slowly abating, and he let out a strangled sob that sounded more like a hiccough.

“You feeling better, Harry?” Ron asked into the subsequent silence.

Harry didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded a bit instead, and then tried to sit up. Hands were immediately around his bare shoulders and chest to support him, and he was simultaneously grateful for the help and ashamed of his weakness.

He had just looked up to see the blurry face of Ron seated beside him, watching him with no small amount of worry, when the doors to the dorm room burst open and McGonagall’s silhouette filled the opening.

“Mr. Potter, are you all right?” His Head of House moved to place the back of her hand against his forehead, vanishing the puddle of sick near the edge of his bed with a wave of her wand.

“I’m fine,” Harry croaked, his voice barely usable, but some latent tears traitorously slid down his cheeks.

“What happened?” she questioned, apparently satisfied that he didn’t have a fever, and handing him a kerchief from her robe.

Harry didn’t answer at first, visions of that woman’s horrifically mangled body flashing through his mind, but Ron cut in. “It was another vision of You-Know-Who, right Harry?”

Harry nodded absently, wiping his sweating, tear-stained face with the kerchief and taking in a slow, trembling breath as he tried to appear less rattled than he was.

McGonagall turned her attention to Ron and he seemed to take it as his cue. “We woke up to his screaming and when we finally managed to light the candles, he was losing it over the side of his bed.”

“He went on for a while,” Neville added, his face pinched in worry as he stood next to Ron’s bed. “Longer than the other times it’s happened.”

“Right,” McGonagall stated with her usual clipped, no-nonsense tone, although she looked concerned. “I will escort you to Madam Pomfrey, Potter. Can you walk?”

“I’m all right, really, Professor,” Harry stated, not particularly wanting to go to the hospital wing and feeling much better now, but McGonagall sent him a withering look and he relented immediately.

Before he was really sure if he could walk, he slipped over the side of the bed and when his bare feet hit the floor he was relieved to find that he could. He didn’t think he could bear the embarrassment of crumpling onto the floor like a ragdoll after everything else he had done that night.

Ron handed him one of his robes and Harry muttered his thanks as he slipped it on around him, covering up his bare torso. Ron handed him his glasses next and once he slipped into his shoes, he followed McGonagall obediently through the torch-lit hallways toward the hospital wing.

His mind constantly strayed to the vision from Voldemort and he tried to make sense of it, even as he struggled with all his mental capacity not to think too much about that poor woman’s fate. That was impossible, of course, and by the time they had arrived at the hospital wing, Harry was very much feeling like he could retch again. Madam Pomfrey seemed to spot this immediately, because she quickly ushered him to a free bed and propped him up with a chamber pot perched on his lap.

“I’ll send for the Headmaster,” McGonagall stated as Pomfrey fussed over Harry with her wand, scanning him for any hexes or maladies. “Thank you, Poppy.”

With a curt nod, she turned and marched from the room.

Harry sat back against the pillow behind him, every muscle in his body aching now that he was relaxed again, and a ghost of an ache still twinged behind his scar.

“Well, you don’t have a fever or any traces of a hex, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey informed him once she was done waving her wand around. “So I suppose this visit is due to yet something else I am not privy to.”

She sounded a bit bitter, but Harry said nothing. He didn’t want that many people to know about his connection to Voldemort anyway. He could barely stand thinking about it himself.

“Here, drink this for the headache,” Madam Pomfrey offered, and Harry took the proffered glass of potion from her hands.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry murmured, his voice still a bit hoarse.

“Quite all right, dear.” Madam Pomfrey warmed up to him, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

He swallowed the potion as quickly as he could, the concoction burning down his already sore throat, but minutes later, the pain behind his scar and the muscle aches throughout his body eased and he sighed tiredly.

Dumbledore entered moments later, followed by McGonagall.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Dumbledore asked kindly, before he conjured himself and McGonagall two plush chintz chairs at his bedside and took a seat.

Harry nodded, starting to feel embarrassed and ashamed by all of the attention and the reason for it. After all, he was supposed to have learned occlumency the previous year so that he could block out Voldemort’s mind. He had never been successful with it for obvious reasons and he had never wished to go back to it after his disastrous sessions with Snape. Dumbledore had never pushed him on it, but Harry had felt a bit guilty ever since, especially given the circumstances of Sirius’s death.

“Minerva tells me you have had another vision from Voldemort,” Dumbledore prompted politely.

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What did you see, Harry?” Dumbledore’s expression was serious, although his blue eyes still twinkled a bit behind his half-moon spectacles as he regarded him.

“I don’t really know,” Harry shook his head. “Voldemort was really pleased about something and Lucius Malfoy was there.” Harry paused, trying to remember the details. “Lucius said something about Voldemort’s spies being ready, and then Voldemort became really pleased. And there was all this green light coming from below and when Voldemort finally looked down – ” Harry stopped, his voice catching conspicuously.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Dumbledore stated gently as Harry fought to compose himself. Harry wasn’t going to cry, but his throat had just become unnaturally tight and it made it difficult to speak. “What did you see?”

“There was a woman,” Harry began and then paused to collect himself before he went on. “She was floating above a glowing green table and she was…cut open from her chest to her stomach…but she was alive. She was blinking and looking up at me, trying to scream, but she was under some sort of silencing spell. She was so scared, and then – ” Harry cut himself off, as he tried to mask his trembling hands by gripping the chamber pot in his lap tightly.

“How dreadful,” McGonagall whispered, her voice weak.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed, although he didn’t sound surprised in the least by the account.

The professors shared a look, McGonagall’s questioning Dumbledore, who merely appeared grave.

“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore finally spoke after a thoughtful pause on his part. “Was that all?”

“There wasn’t much more,” Harry replied. “Voldemort told Lucius to dispose of the woman like she was rubbish and not a person and as he left, Lucius said something about someone named Ignus Mortis giving him information. Voldemort wanted to know what that was, and he ordered Lucius to meet with him later to discuss it. After that, Lucius must have undone the silencing spell because I could hear the woman screaming. That’s when I woke up.”

McGonagall appeared highly troubled. “Ignus Mortis.”

“The Death Flame,” Dumbledore translated thoughtfully.

“What do you think Voldemort is doing?” Harry questioned. “He mentioned spies…” His voice trailed off.

“We cannot be sure at this point,” Dumbledore replied contemplatively. “Although clearly it means that Voldemort feels he has spies in some very important positions.”

“At Hogwarts?” Harry questioned, finally cutting to the heart of the concerns he’d developed on his way to the hospital wing.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore answered simply, and McGonagall looked a bit ashen faced at that. “We will have to prepare for this possibility.”

“The Order will have to be informed,” McGonagall stated gravely. “I’ll tell Remus to set up a meeting at Grimmauld Place.”

Dumbledore nodded to her absently.

“Snape –” Harry began, but Dumbledore cut him off.

“Professor Snape is not a spy for Voldemort, Harry. I can vouch for his loyalty,” Dumbledore stated, his tone one of finality. “Please get some rest, and you shall go back to your dorm in the morning. Please let me know if anything further is troubling you.”

Harry nodded, a bit frustrated by Dumbledore’s implicit trust in Snape, but knowing when the Headmaster would hear none of it. Dumbledore stood along with McGonagall, who nodded to Harry curtly. Both of the chairs vanished before they made their exit, leaving Harry to his own devices. His worries about Snape and spies at Hogwarts only grew, until Madam Pomfrey came back with some Dreamless Sleep potion and watched until he drank every last drop.

Only just before he fell back to sleep did worries about Draco enter his mind, but when they did, he found himself more concerned for the boy’s safety than the broken state of their non-relationship. However, the fear was short-lived as he drifted off to sleep, and he didn’t remember it a few hours later when he awoke in the morning.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Harry, how are you feeling?” Hermione asked him the moment he sat down across from her in the Great Hall for breakfast. “I heard all about what had happened from Ron.”

Ron plopped down next to him, looking haggard, and Harry’s vague sense of guilt only multiplied. “I’m all right. Sorry for worrying you.”

He moved to pick up his fork and Hermione’s hand covered his. He looked up at her questioningly.

“Harry, don’t ever apologize for worrying me. It’s what you do best.” She smiled when he sent her a pained look. “I’m just glad you’re alright. I know it’s painful, but could you tell us what you saw when we’re back in Gryffindor tower?”

Harry stiffened a bit, not really wanting to relive certain parts of the nightmare. Then he sighed when he realized, in the end, it would be good to let his friends know. “All right.”

“Just skip through the gory details, will you?” Ron asked with his usual tact as he lethargically plopped some kippers onto his plate. “It sounds like it was bloody awful.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry replied dryly, and Hermione leaned over to swat Ron upside the head with that morning’s edition of _The Daily Prophet_.

Harry sent her a grateful smile and she rolled her eyes in exasperation at her boyfriend.

Ron was already shoving food into his mouth by the time Harry maneuvered his first bite of eggs to his lips, but Seamus interrupted him by clapping him on the back.

“Alright, mate?” Seamus’s tone was as carefree as usual, but Harry could see the worry in his dorm mate’s eyes. Dean mimicked the look while regarding him from just over Seamus’s shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry replied, knowing that they were just being good friends, but wishing that they would just forget about it. The attention was making him uncomfortable.

Harry absently searched out Draco at the Slytherin table as he took a gulp from his goblet of pumpkin juice, but he didn’t see the boy anywhere. Then he remembered the disastrous encounter they’d had in the hidden tower the night before, and was left feeling highly bereft. Right now, more than ever, he would have liked to see Draco and talk to him.

Not that he’d ever be able to do that again.

Harry wanted to groan and hold his head in his hands, but he desisted because Hermione was watching him curiously.

He hastily snapped his attention away from the Slytherin table and continued to push food into his mouth, although now it tasted so bland he wondered if his taste buds had been shut off somehow. He did his best to ignore Hermione’s concerned gaze, relieved when Ron started conversing with him about Quidditch strategy for their upcoming game against Ravenclaw.

Hermione eventually interrupted them by placing a page from the Daily Prophet in the space between their plates. “There was another attack yesterday. This time in Bristol.”

Harry read the title of the article: _Death Eater Attack Rattles Muggle Town of Bristol, One Missing,_ and frowned. He had an idea he already knew who the missing muggle was. Her terrified expression had etched itself into his memories, along with her terrible fate.

He suddenly didn’t feel hungry anymore.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, recounting the nightmare wasn’t much more enjoyable than it had been the night before, but Hermione listened attentively and even took notes. She gasped appropriately at his descriptions of the floating woman, and Ron looked a bit green by the end. Hermione agreed with him that the tortured woman was probably the victim of the attack the day before, and Ron made some predictable comments about the dastardly Malfoys followed by a string of expletives to their name. Harry had to actually stop himself from defending Draco.

“But what was the purpose of torturing that woman?” Hermione mercifully cut across Ron’s rant.

“Sounds like he’s creating some sort of new form of torture,” Ron shrugged.

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t seem nearly as simple as that,” Hermione replied, her brows knitting in thought. “Harry, you say she was cut open alive?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a nod, trying not to shudder. “But she was silenced with a spell.”

“Hm,” Hermione murmured. “What could he gain from something like that?”

“What would he need to gain?” Ron asked. “He’s You-Know-Who, he probably enjoys torturing kittens for fun.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking exasperated, but Harry interrupted her when she opened her mouth to say something.

“He could torture and keep someone alive for as long as possible,” Harry muttered. “He would have absolute power over them, and the ability to control the level of their pain without losing them as a possible source of information. For Voldemort, that would be motivation enough.”

Hermione looked at him, but didn’t say anything. Harry was grateful she didn’t comment on how pale or sickly he probably looked.

“Just think how many muggles he’s been experimenting on,” Ron muttered with a deep frown. “Dad has been suspecting for a long time that the Prophet isn’t reporting nearly as many attacks as have been occurring.”

“The Order should know,” Hermione stated. “Wouldn’t your father know through them?”

“Probably,” Ron shrugged. “I’m not privy to that information. They don’t exactly invite us to the meetings, do they?”

They both glanced hesitantly at Harry as if they expected him to say something critical about that, possibly even get angry, but Harry didn’t feel the proper amount of indignation, and he could see his friends’ surprise at his subsequent silence.

“Yes, well,” Hermione eventually spoke. “I suppose they’ll tell us if something important happens.”

Ron nodded and then they all fell into a contemplative silence.

Harry eventually broke it with his suspicions about Snape, and Hermione and Ron rather reluctantly agreed with him that they should watch the potions professor whenever they had the chance. Other than that, there were no other conclusions to be drawn, and by the end, Harry was left wishing he could talk to Draco and felt depressed that he may have lost his chance to ever do so again.

The rest of the day passed by in a haze of studying, supervised by Hermione, as the three of them sat in a well-used alcove in the library, but Harry could barely concentrate.

He was slightly relieved to see Draco seated at the Slytherin table during dinner – only realizing at that moment that he had been worried about Draco’s well-being since that morning, although he couldn’t quite figure out why specifically.

As per usual, Draco ignored him entirely, but Harry watched him, trying to catch his eye. This plan was cut short, however, by Hermione’s late arrival to dinner as she had stayed behind at the library to do more studying than either Harry or Ron could possibly cope with.

That night, Harry decided that he would go up to the hidden tower. Although, he tried not to get his hopes up for what he might find. That was why, upon entering the Room of Requirement, he was completely shocked to see Draco casually sitting on the impost beneath one of the open arches and looking out at the grounds.

Harry took off his invisibility cloak and cautiously moved forward, stopping just beside Draco. Draco didn’t seem to be surprised in the least by his arrival and he nodded slightly, before looking over at him. “Potter.”

“Draco,” Harry greeted in return wearily. He hated being played with. “You can call me Harry, you know.”

“I've heard about your nightmare, Potter.” Draco ignored his request, although his expression was softer than usual. “I've heard you had a bad reaction.”

“Who told you that?” Harry questioned, wondering how Draco had heard about that when only his dorm mates, Hermione, and a select few professors knew about his vision.

“The walls talk, Potter,” Draco replied enigmatically. “Now answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask a question.” Harry huffed, his irritation growing.

“You know what I mean,” Draco stated exasperatedly and now he was glaring.

“Why do you care?” Harry pressed. Damn Draco if the Slytherin thought he could act aloof one night and concerned the next.

“I don’t,” Draco snapped. “I just want to know.”

“Why?” Harry pressed, and Draco rubbed his temples in exasperation before looking away.

“Fine, whatever.” Draco made to hop off the impost and leave, but Harry swung out a hand and blocked him.

“Wait. All right.” Harry hated giving in, but Draco nodded immediately and sat back down beneath the archway.

The moment he turned toward Harry, a knowing smirk tugged at Draco’s lips and Harry scowled.

“What do you want to know about it?”

“Whatever you can tell me,” Draco replied, and his smirk fell away.

“The vision was worse than usual and I woke up vomiting until I had nothing left to give and then some,” Harry replied simply. He knew Draco was squeamish about a lot of things, including blood and injury. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy hated illness too. “Plus, my head felt like it was going to split in two.”

Draco did look a bit green at the description, but he was clearly trying his hardest to mask it. The resulting struggle, however, left him looking a bit constipated. Harry’s lips quirked up in amusement.

“Sounds like you had fun, Potter,” Draco quipped in a way that would have been debonair if he hadn’t looked so uncomfortable.

“Oh yeah, it was an absolute romp,” Harry replied with false levity. “I love waking up to visions of mutilated bodies and getting intimately reacquainted with the remnants of my latest meal.”

“Mutilated bodies?” Draco repeated in a hoarse whisper, and Harry could see that his little slip had actually caused the pale boy’s skin to become even paler.

“It was a woman,” Harry stated soberly. “She was alive, but Voldemort had cut her open.”

Harry paused, wondering if he should say what he had meant to say next. Eventually, he decided he should, even though he knew it would make things difficult for Draco. “Your father was there with him. Voldemort ordered him to dispose of her.”

Despite the stoic front Draco was attempting, he looked absolutely stricken, and Harry felt horrible and relieved at the same time. It was one of the first times Harry witnessed Draco looking truly affronted by Voldemort’s actions.  

“And this really happened?” Draco murmured, his voice surprisingly even for how traumatized he appeared.

“Most likely,” Harry sighed and he watched Draco carefully. The boy appeared troubled and distant.

They both went silent after that and turned their attention to the grounds for a bit, Harry not knowing quite what to say. The sky was clear that night and the moonlight was brightly reflected by the snow on the ground. Harry watched smoke rise from Hagrid’s hut, before Draco interrupted the silence.

“My father sent me an owl this morning,” Draco stated, and he looked to be a million miles away. “I am to be Marked during the Winter Hols.”

“Draco.” Harry frowned with alarm. “You can’t go.”

“I have to,” Draco sighed, and he sounded resigned rather than argumentative.

“No, you don’t,” Harry retorted vehemently and he placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders, nearly shaking him into sense.

“He will kill me if I don’t.” Draco’s tone was so full of confidence in that one fact, that it pierced through Harry’s heart. Harry wasn’t even sure if Draco was referring to Voldemort or his father, and that fact scared him.

“I won’t let him,” Harry persisted. “Just stay here. Let Dumbledore protect you.” _Let me protect you._

“Harry…”

That was the first time Harry had heard his given name in Draco’s voice. He pulled Draco into a hug. “You can’t…you can’t go, Draco.”

“There’s no other way.” Draco’s voice was muffled against his neck. “I’ve been prepared for this since His return. Everyone expects it.”

“I don’t,” Harry retorted stubbornly, burying his face into Draco’s hair on the side of his neck and tightening his arms around him. “I expect you to fight.”

“Then you don’t know me,” Draco replied calmly. “I’m not a fighter. I’m a survivor.”

“Why can’t you believe that I’ll protect you?” Harry asked in a tone that sounded just as agonized and frustrated as he felt. “Or Dumbledore. He would keep you alive, Draco.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t trust you or him. Not with my life.”

Harry was horrified to feel a burn behind his eyes and he struggled to keep the tears at bay. He wasn’t usually one to cry.   However, he was unable to keep his breath from hitching, sending a spasm through his body, and the boy in his arms stiffened a bit before pulling back. Harry let him slip out of his loosening grasp.

He fiercely wiped at his eyes beneath his glasses as his breath hitched again, traitorous tears finally squeezing from his eyelids and sliding down his cheeks. He felt colder than ever now that Draco had stepped out of his reach, but then something warm slid along one of his wet cheeks and Harry opened his eyes blearily to see Draco standing close to him and pulling his glasses off with the hand that wasn’t cupping his cheek. Harry squinted at him as Draco carefully placed his glasses on the impost and turned back to him.

Draco moved forward and Harry’s eyes fluttered closed cautiously as Draco’s lips touched his eyelids, and then lowered to his mouth.

Harry’s breath hitched against the boy’s lips, and Draco took the opportunity to slide his tongue into his open mouth. The hand Draco had used to cup Harry’s cheek moved to cup the back of his head, his fingers threading into the dark hair at the nape of his neck and massaging the tense muscles beneath.

Harry leaned into the kiss, shocked by Draco’s actions, but grateful nonetheless. Draco’s lips were warm and inviting against his own, and he pushed his hands through his fair hair, before moving them down to Draco’s lower back and pulling him closer. Draco groaned lowly and Harry actively deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along Draco’s with barely concealed need.

They stumbled a bit until Harry had backed Draco against a wall. He pressed his leg between Draco’s thighs and moved his head down to kiss the exposed skin between his neck and shoulder. Draco writhed a bit and it left Harry wanting more. Draco seemed to pick up on this, because his hands deftly moved down to Harry’s crotch and he cupped the half-hardness through his trousers, squeezing and rubbing. Harry couldn’t help bucking appreciatively and groaning in response as he left open-mouthed kisses along Draco’s throat.

Harry felt the familiar warmth tightening in his gut, but then an alarm went off somewhere in his mind. He needed more from Draco than the boy might be willing to give and he felt too emotionally strung at the moment to allow this if it was just going to end with Draco pulling away and threatening not to speak to him again.

“Wait. Stop,” Harry gasped, ceasing his thrusts abruptly and pulling Draco’s hand away by the wrist.

Draco looked genuinely disappointed and flustered at the unceremonious halt to their activities, his face flushed and lips opened to release shallow breaths. “Why did you stop?”

“I just…” Harry paused. He pulled the hand he was grasping by the wrist up to his face and pressed Draco’s palm against his cheek, before covering the hand with his own. Draco watched him, bemused. Harry sighed. “I want to know that you won’t regret this…again.”

Draco stared at him, before looking away. “I wouldn’t regret something I started, would I?”

“I don’t know,” Harry mumbled, and it was the truth, frustration from every day since he’d first kissed Draco collecting within him. “You seemed to like it the other times as well, but then you turned cold and blamed me for making unfair advances. I don’t know what to think where you’re concerned.”

“I won’t do that this time,” Draco murmured, and he looked sincere, even if he couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked. “If you’re just going to leave and get the Mark –”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Draco snapped, his eyes suddenly hard and focused on him.

“That has everything to do with this, Draco, and you know it!” Harry snapped back. “Merlin! Do you think it’s okay to just -- what is this to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Draco retorted, and he attempted to pull his hand back from Harry’s cheek. Harry loosened his grip and let him.

“You’ve been hot and cold with me all week,” Harry began heatedly. “You’ve never given me a straight answer about anything. And now, right after you tell me that you’re going to join Voldemort, the wizard who is trying to kill me and half of the populace of Britain, magical or otherwise, you’re snogging me in much the same way I’d snogged you before, except that those two times you’d rejected me outright and basically accused me of molesting you. I don’t know what to think anymore!”

“Well, if you don’t want my advances you can just say so, Potter,” Draco retorted defensively, already receding into his colder more distant exterior.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Harry growled frustratedly. “I _do_ want this. _Merlin_ , I do! But I don’t want to be strung along by you. I don’t want to do more of whatever this is and then just watch you go to Voldemort at the end of it.”

“I’m sorry then,” Draco murmured and he sounded tired, but his tone was sharp. “I can’t give you something eternal like in those poorly written romance novels witches read to distract themselves from the complications of real-life relationships. You’re Harry-bloody-Potter and I’m Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater. There is no eternity for us. There is no happy ending. There is only borrowed time.”

Harry went silent at that, wanting to argue, but not knowing how. His leg was still between Draco’s thighs and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the wall next to Draco’s head. His voice was soft when he next spoke.

“How do you know you’ll survive as a Death Eater? That seems loads more dangerous.”

“My father will protect me instead of hunting me down,” Draco answered. “That’s the difference.”

Harry pulled back and Draco watched him. They stared at each other for a bit, before Harry sighed and rested his forehead against Draco’s. His hands came up to cup either side of Draco’s jaw, his thumbs caressing the soft skin of his cheeks.

“How do you know your father wouldn’t still kill you if Voldemort wanted it?” Harry persisted. “How do you know that Voldemort won’t order you on some dangerous mission with no chance of survival?”

“Because he doesn’t want my father to turn against him,” Draco replied monotonously. He had probably gone through these same questions and answers thousands of times in his head. “The Malfoy name is powerful amongst Pureblood families. If the Dark Lord can keep his grip on the Malfoys then the stability of his power after the war is almost assured.”

“Then why would your father kill you if you turned down the Mark?” Harry questioned.

“Because my father is loyal to the Dark Lord.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Harry shook his head with frustration at the circular logic.

“Maybe not to an orphan Gryffindor like you,” Draco murmured quietly.

Harry sighed heavily and clenched his fingers into the soft skin of Draco’s cheeks and jaw. He felt utterly helpless when their lips eventually met, but he didn’t know what else to do. The kiss was soft, meant to be comforting against such a merciless situation. When they finally parted, Harry had grudgingly accepted the terms.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Harry stated, daring Draco to object.

Draco stared at him and then nodded, and Harry moved away after only a moment’s hesitation.

Harry turned and put on his cloak, making him disappear into the night. He heard a soft, “sleep well, Potter” just before he stepped into the stairwell and left Draco Malfoy standing alone in the moonlight and shadows.


	5. Diligo Visum

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry tried to twist his features into an appropriate scowl as Snape sneered wickedly and Ron patted him consolingly on the back.

“Don’t let the prat get to you, mate,” Ron murmured lowly as Harry got up from his seat to join Draco across the room. Although, Ron didn’t seem to be following his own advice because he was sending Draco dirty looks.

Draco, for his part, was ignoring them both, although he twitched a bit when Harry sat down beside him close enough that their thighs brushed beneath the desk. Harry did his best to look as though he’d rather be anywhere but there, and Snape glanced over at his supposed discomfort with an expression of vindictive pleasure.

“Mr. Weasley and Mr. Goyle.”

Ron, looking as though he was walking to his death, moved to sit beside the exceedingly laconic, boulder-like figure of Gregory Goyle.

“Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Zabini.”

Neville made an eep-like sound, before he shakily made his way over to sit beside a sneering Blaise Zabini.

“Miss. Granger and Miss. Parkinson.”

Neither girl looked at one another as Hermione got up and made her way dutifully to the seat beside Pansy.

“Today you will be concocting the advanced Potion, _Diligo Visum_ ,” Snape began, once he’d gone through the attendance list and the entire class was sorted. “Does anyone care to explain what this potion does, specifically?”

Snape’s eyes scanned the room, purposefully glancing over Hermione as her hand shot into the air and inevitably lingering on Harry. Harry mentally groaned. “Mr. Potter?”

Harry sent a desperate look toward Draco, but the boy continued to ignore him completely. Harry didn’t have to fake a scowl in the other boy’s direction this time. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Of course you don’t,” Snape snapped, although he appeared amused. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Does anyone else care to explain? Mr. Malfoy?”

“It’s a potion designed to reveal if someone’s in love,” Draco recited, although he seemed a bit less haughty than usual. His eyes darted uncomfortably toward Harry for half a second. Harry’s heart beat sped up and sweat accumulated on his palms as he gripped the edge of the desk.

More than a few girls in the room giggled and blushed. Pansy, herself, was sending Draco a predatory look.  

“Correct as usual, Draco,” Snape commended, his face contorting into a pleased smile. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

“But Professor,” Theodore Nott asked. “Why would we need a potion for that?”

“There are maladies that can only affect wizards or witches who are in love. If such a witch or wizard were to be incapacitated, a medi-wizard or witch could give them this potion and narrow down a possible cause for the illness,” Snape replied. “In more modern times, it has also been abused by post-adolescent witches, much as love potions are.”

Snape looked disgusted at even the mere thought of love potion-abuse by teenage girls. “For our purposes, due to the visible nature of the potion’s effect on the drinker and the relative safety of the potion’s ingredients, it is a common potion tested in exams like your NEWTS.”

“What happens if someone’s in love, sir?” Seamus asked after putting up a hand with an answering nod from Snape.

“A golden rune will glow on the imbiber’s forehead,” Snape replied succinctly, and with a swish of his wand, he drew a circle in the air cut in half by a line that went straight down and was divided crosswise by another line. Then he drew two short lines on either end, parallel to the middle line so that the rune looked like a circle hanging above a capitol E on its side. The rune hung there, glowing gold in the darkness of the dungeon before Snape swiped his wand and it shimmered out of existence.

Snape raised an eyebrow and swept his gaze across the room. When the room remained silent, Snape continued. “You will all have until the end of the lesson to finish your Diligo Visum potion at which point we will test you each by pair in front of your peers.”

Snape’s lips twitched into a smirk as almost all the boys in the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The girls giggled excitedly, except for Hermione who was shaking her head in disgust at all of them. “The ingredients are on the board. You may begin.”

Harry got up to get the ingredients without being prompted, too anxious to just sit still. He was also aware that Draco would be directing him on how to make the potion while he did most of the grunt work. Secretly, he was fine with this, because he had no clue how to make a potion this complex and Potions was notoriously Draco’s best subject.

He selected the ingredients and placed all the jars and bundles on their desk beside the cauldron that Draco had already set over a simmering fire. Neither boy looked at each other as Harry sat down, infinitely more careful this time with where his thigh touched.

Of course Harry was anxious about taking the potion. The moment he’d heard what it was for and Draco had glanced at him, he entertained the notion that the rune might glow on his forehead. For the first time in his life, he dared to wonder if he was actually in love. Although, he didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like, let alone if what he felt for Draco had anything to do with it. He knew he fancied the Slytherin. That was pretty obvious, even if at first he had tried to peg it down to overactive hormones. But love? It was nerve-racking think that this potion might tell him the answer.  

And if the rune glowed on Draco’s forehead too…

But what if it didn’t glow on Draco’s forehead and it did on Harry’s?

Harry’s stomach somersaulted and he had to shake his head to concentrate when he realized Draco was holding out some mandrake roots to chop and sending him an exasperated look. Harry sheepishly took the roots. Although, he felt a bit better when he noticed that Draco’s hands were shaking as the boy set about plucking the wings off of twenty-five dragonflies.

They worked in absolute silence from there on out. Draco had written out the instructions on a parchment which they kept between them, and Draco would hand Harry the exact amount of ingredients he needed to chop or peel or squeeze or mash. Draco would then add the ingredients to the potion, carefully stirring clockwise or counter-clockwise, quickly or slowly as the potion demanded. Snape would come by every twenty minutes and look disappointed when he couldn’t find Harry doing anything wrong. Predictably, the potions master would nod at Draco before moving on.

There was only one possible moment at which the potion could have been ruined, and that was when Ron and Goyle’s cauldron exploded and sent half of the toxic mixture inside spewing over some of their classmate’s workstations. Luckily, Hermione had the quick reflexes to throw her robe jacket over her and Pansy’s cauldron before anything foreign could splash into it. Neville and Blaise, however, were not so lucky, and they suffered the brunt of the blast, thoroughly soiling their potion. Despite the fact that both Ron and Goyle were at fault, Snape predictably took twenty points from Gryffindor and none from Slytherin. Ron was left scowling as he and Goyle set about cleaning their workspace without the aid of magic as punishment.

After that, Harry and Draco’s potion was completed relatively quickly, and it sat in their cauldron as the sweet-smelling rosy-pink concoction it was supposed to be. They were the first to finish, followed quickly by Hermione and Pansy and then slowly by the rest of the pupils whose potions weren’t already ruined.

As he waited for Snape to call time, Harry’s palms were sweating and his heart was beating a mile a minute in a strange mix of anticipation and dread. He saw from the corner of his eye that Draco was clenching and unclenching his hands beneath the desk, and it made Harry feel slightly better that he wasn’t the only one suffering from a bout of nerves.

Although he remembered that the rune could glow for everyone to see on his forehead, but remain absent from Draco’s. If that happened, Draco would know and forever have something to hold over him. Not to mention the speculation it would garner throughout the school and possibly throughout the wizarding world that Harry Potter was, in fact, in love. Harry hated to think what type of gossip that might instigate, especially amongst his friends.

In fact, the more he had time to think on it as Snape sat idly at his desk waiting for the clock to reach the correct second, the more he did not want to take the potion at all. Harry even briefly entertained the idea that he could sabotage his potion somehow, but that was quickly dashed when he thought of Draco and how angry the boy would be if he did.

Finally, with the agonizingly slow grace of someone who knew how uncomfortable his students were and reveled in it, Snape stood up from his desk and declared it time. There were no stragglers and so the dungeon was completely silent as Snape began his inspection.

Harry scowled when Snape started at the side of the room furthest away from him. The professor was going to let him stew in anxiety the longest. Draco seemed to stiffen a bit beside Harry, clearly coming to the same conclusion, but Harry didn’t dare try to share a look with him in commiseration . He guessed that Draco would most likely ignore him anyway.

The entire class held their breaths as Snape deemed the first potion passable and the first two students, Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, took two scoops of their potion simultaneously.   After a few moments of waiting and watching, nothing happened, and some of their classmates tittered in nervous excitement. Nott seemed relieved, chuckling with the rest of the boys near him, but Millicent looked absolutely devastated.

The next two pairs were the same, and each time, the girls in the pairing seemed decidedly more negative about the results than their male counterparts. Neville and Blaise, followed by Ron and Goyle were disqualified and thus, skipped entirely, but when Hermione and Pansy took their potions, the girls in the room were sent into a giggling fit as both of their foreheads glowed with the golden runes.

Hermione only smiled, sending a glance toward Ron who goofily smiled back. If Harry hadn’t been so nervous, himself, he would have laughed at his friends and the way they mooned over each other.

Any more amusement he would have had was further quashed, however, by the sight of Pansy, glowing forehead and all, making eyes at Draco. Harry felt something unpleasant twist in his gut and he scowled at Pansy without thinking. Pansy noticed and arched a brow at him before he realized what he was doing. He hurriedly looked away to avoid making even more of an arse of himself, but not before Draco noticed and sent him an inscrutable look.   Harry just did his best to ignore him, never looking in his direction again.

Dean and Lavender, followed by Seamus and Parvati, were next and a lot of students, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, laughed with a smattering of wolf-whistles when both Dean and Seamus’s foreheads lit up like Christmas trees and Lavender and Parvati’s didn’t. Both the girls looked utterly distressed, but Dean and Seamus just smiled good-naturedly. Harry didn’t miss the way they both smiled at each other for a bit too long to be completely natural.

Then the time came when Snape’s billowing form stood before Harry and Draco. All eyes in the dungeon settled upon them and Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. Snape ladled some of their potion into a goblet and inspected it, then nodded once that it was satisfactory, although he shot Harry a suspicious look.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and followed Draco’s lead as the boy dipped a goblet into the cauldron, taking out a healthy dose. Heart hammering in his chest and feeling slightly sick as the sweet-smell of the potion entered his nostrils, Harry quickly took the concoction to his lips and swallowed the whole cup just as Draco had seconds before.

His first thought was that it tasted oddly like flowery candy floss and his second thought was that his forehead tingled, but not in a painful way like when his scar hurt. Cautiously, Harry glanced over at Draco and watched wide-eyed as the tell-tale rune of love blazingly pronounced itself upon Draco’s forehead. Draco seemed to be equally transfixed upon Harry’s forehead and Harry could see the golden glow of an identical rune reflected in Draco’s eyes.

Harry stared, wide eyed, and Draco stared right back.

The rest of the class had gone completely silent at first, some people had even gasped, until Seamus shouted, “Brilliant, Harry! Who’s the lucky lass?” and most of the students laughed, breaking the ice.

Then, without missing a beat, Seamus added, “Oy, Malfoy! Who’s the unfortunate sod?”

That time, only the Gryffindors laughed.

Draco scowled and turned his nose up petulantly. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Finnigan? Luckily, I have no wish to know the poor tosser you’re in love with.”

Many of the Slytherins chuckled, but Pansy was glowering. She looked ready to pull out her wand and hex the Irish boy if he so much as made a wrong move in Draco’s direction. Seamus was laughing though, completely uncowed by Pansy. Everyone knew that not even the Slytherins would go unpunished by Snape if they resorted to hexing in his dungeon.

Harry sent Draco a small apologetic smile for Seamus while most of the students occupied themselves by glaring at members of the opposite house.

However, Draco barely acknowledged Harry, his expression still pinched with displeasure. Harry frowned and looked away. Almost immediately, his eyes caught upon Hermione and Ron who were both staring at him in shock, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Of course they, being his best mates, had thought they would be the first he would tell if he was in love. The fact that he hadn’t must have been quite the shock. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t exactly known it himself until that moment.

Harry was just starting to let that thought sink in with an indescribable sense of contentment washing over him, when he turned back around to see Pansy and Draco, and the good feeling shattered.

Pansy was attached to Draco’s side, smiling at him as he quirked a smile at her. Then Harry realized with a horrible dropping sensation in his stomach that he could be wrong, that Draco could very well be in love with Pansy and not him. The thought left him feeling twisted with jealousy as Draco continued to smirk at Pansy’s comments and not push her off of him.

Snape called the class to order and assigned them each a three metre essay. When they sat back down, Harry screwed up his courage and pressed the length of his thigh along Draco’s. Draco's hands clenched upon the desktop, but he didn't move away.

This brief pleasure was gone the moment the lesson ended and Pansy attached herself to Draco’s side. Draco was complacent and doting as they both walked out the door without sparing a glance for anyone else.

“Since when have you been in love, Harry?” Ron questioned the moment they made it out of the dungeons flanked by Hermione with Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, and Parvati in tow.

“I don’t know. I've just found out myself,” Harry muttered, mired in a sour mood now.

“You mean, with that potion?” Lavender asked with disbelief, and Seamus laughed.

“That’s our Harry!” He quipped, patting him on the back. “Naive as a Hufflepuff.”

“But –but that would make you even thicker than I am!” Ron spluttered. “How could you not know?”

“I just didn’t, all right?” Harry answered defensively. “How was I supposed to know how it feels?”

Everyone around him went silent at that.

“ _Oh, Harry_ ,” Hermione sighed.

“What?” Harry questioned, but he had a sinking feeling he already knew where this was headed, and he didn’t want to get into it.

Hermione only shook her head.

“Nothing.” Her voice was low and soothing. “I’m glad you’ve found it though. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Erm…” Harry uttered uncomfortably.

“Does she know how you feel?” Hermione pressed, apparently warming up to the subject.

“Hermione!” Ron groaned. “You can’t talk about that kind of stuff with Harry. He’s a bloke!”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione huffed. “That explains so much.”

“It _is_ easy to forget,” Seamus joked and Harry turned around to glower at him. “Oh, you’ve wounded me with your cold, emerald stare, fair maiden!”

“What do you think, Dean-o,” Seamus continued, chuckling and ignoring Harry’s glare entirely as he nudged Dean in the shoulder. “He is right slender for a bloke, yeah?”

Dean laughed. “And he’s got those pretty green eyes.”

“What are you talking about, Seamus?” Lavender piped up from the back, and then she sent Harry a seductive look. “To me, Harry is _all man_.”

Everyone, including Harry, stopped and stared at Lavender wide-eyed.

“What?” She asked, clearly confused by all the attention. “It’s the truth!”

“Er…thanks, Lavender,” Harry coughed, feeling twice as uncomfortable as before.

Lavender smiled at him.

“Can you believe Malfoy is in love?” Ron broke into the subsequent silence. “I mean, _Malfoy_! And with that pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, no less!”

“He’s not in love with Pansy,” Harry blurted and all eyes in the group turned to him. Ron looked a bit caught off guard and Hermione looked calculating. Suddenly, Harry wanted to hex himself as he realized how strange it sounded for him to say that. “I mean –”

“Wait a tic, do you know something we don’t?” Seamus questioned, looking highly intrigued.

“No, I, not really,” Harry replied quickly, which was sort of true. “I just…spotted him snogging someone else.”

“What? When was this?” Ron asked, eyes widening and eyebrows knitting as if his brain was bombarded by visions of Draco snogging.

“Erm…” Harry stalled. “Just last week…I walked by at the wrong time and…and it wasn’t Pansy,” he finished lamely.

“So now the pointy-faced git has _two_ girls getting their knickers in a twist over him?” Ron asked incredulously, actually looking a bit ill.

Harry was saved from having to respond by Seamus.

“Who says it’s a girl?” the Irish boy asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Was it a bloke, Harry?”

Harry frowned. Thankfully, Ron interjected.

“What are you on about?” Ron asked with a frown. “He’s always got Parkinson attached at the hip.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t play for both teams!” Seamus quipped with a laugh as Ron scowled. “Oh come on, Ron, Malfoy’s a complete ponce. It’s not a stretch.”

“It _does_ look like he spends a lot of time on his hair,” Parvati observed. “It’s so shiny and manageable. How does he do that?”

“It must be a special spell,” Lavender supplied, looking thoughtful. “Or a potion.”

“I wonder if he could teach it to us!” Parvati exclaimed, and then both girls devolved into a giggling conversation about hair care.

“Anyway,” Seamus continued as the two girls promptly separated from the group and walked off somewhere to talk. “So, who’s the object of your desires, Harry? Is it a witch or a _wizard_?” the boy ended mischievously.

Harry tried his best not to blush, but clearly failed, because Seamus laughed along with Dean, and even Neville chuckled a bit. Ron sent him an odd look, and Hermione appeared unsurprised. “I’m not telling.”

“No matter,” Seamus said, looking entirely too smug “I’m not worried. It’ll be in _The Daily Prophet_ by breakfast tomorrow.”

Harry scowled, thinking of Draco and what a mess that would be for them both.

“It’s definitely a bloke, then,” Dean stated perceptively. “Harry wouldn’t have left it open-ended if it was a girl.”

Harry tensed, and tried not to appear incriminating at the same time. It didn't work.

“Good point, Dean,” Seamus smiled. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Ron, who had been sending Harry questioning looks up until that point, switched his attention to Seamus and Dean, wide-eyed. Hermione and Neville, however, looked about as unsurprised as Harry felt. “You two?”

“Yeah, couldn’t you tell from the potion?” Seamus replied. “I thought it was right obvious, didn’t you, love?”

Dean nodded with his cheeks darkened. “Yeah, especially when you smiled at me for ages like a complete berk. I thought you’d never stop.”

“I could smile at you forever, love,” Seamus stated with mock solemnity and then he proceeded to do just that.

Dean laughed, but swatted at his face in an ineffectual attempt to get him to stop.

“So that’s why you quit snogging my sister!” Ron suddenly exclaimed, looking both relieved and disgusted.

Dean grinned at him, and Ron made a gagging motion, but Hermione swatted him reproachfully on the shoulder.  

“But they both sleep in my dorm room!” Ron explained, looking ill.

“Don’t worry, we don’t do anything,” Dean assured him.

“When you’re there!” Seamus added mischievously.

“Merlin’s balls!” Ron exclaimed, looking positively green now. “I don’t want to know.”

“And it’s none of your business anyway, Ronald,” Hermione chastised.

Ron and Hermione shared a glare for all of two seconds, before the enmity inexplicably died away and they were in each other’s arms.

“It’s still gross,” Ron muttered and Hermione made to lightly cuff him across the head, but Seamus cut in, voice unnervingly sober.

“Why, because we’re both blokes?”

“No, _no_!” Ron let go of Hermione and waved his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m pretty sure my brother Charlie is into blokes, although he isn’t exactly out about it, but we all accept that he could be.”

“Good.” And then Seamus’s smile was back in full force. “Because otherwise I would have to make you watch.”

Ron made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and Hermione patted his back with an exasperated smile.

Harry was relieved to hear Ron say what he had, and he was glad that Seamus had been bold enough to push the subject. Harry didn’t think that he would have managed it, given how worried he was that his best mate might reject him. Not that, again, Ron’s acceptance of blokes who fancied blokes would mean anything in Harry’s case, given the particular bloke he was in love with, but it was nice to know all the same.

Harry was left standing next to Neville, staring at the two couples.

“I don’t know what love feels like yet.”

Startled, Harry looked over at Neville to see the boy watching the others with a soft sadness on his face.

Harry didn’t really know what to say. Hermione was far better when it came to these deep, emotional topics, but he felt he should say something as the boy had revealed something to him that was personal.

“It’s like…” Harry tried to think of how he felt when he was with Draco. “Like everything is magnified. Every feeling, whether it’s happy or sad, is just bigger and slightly overwhelming. Like a roller coaster.”

At Neville’s blank look, Harry added. “It’s like riding an out-of-control broom stick.”

“It sounds frightening,” Neville observed, and he looked like he truly believed it.

“Yeah, it can be,” Harry replied honestly, reminded of how he’d felt when Draco left with Pansy in the dungeons.

“But it also looks wonderful,” Neville added wistfully with a small smile as Seamus kissed Dean playfully on the nose and Ron tried not to look.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, remembering not just all the anguish he’d felt in the last week, but the contentment too. “It is.”

“Do you think the person you love, loves you back?” Neville questioned.

“I…” Harry paused. “I don't know.”

“I bet they do,” Neville stated kindly. “You’re a good person. He’d be a fool not to.”

“Er…” Harry blurted, tensing at Neville’s choice of pronoun. “It isn’t necessarily…I didn’t say it was –“

Neville merely chuckled. “It’s all right, Harry. None of us minds. At least, I don’t, and I’m quite certain Seamus and Dean wouldn’t mind either.”

Harry sighed in defeat, and Neville smiled at him warmly. “I…thanks, Neville.”

Once they were back in Gryffindor, on their break before dinner, Ron cornered him in their room.

“So, really, Harry, who is it?”

Harry stared at him, trying to think of a good lie.

“I’m sorry, Ron, but she doesn’t want anyone to know.” Harry recklessly outed his love interest as a girl, which he knew might hurt Ron if he ever learned the truth, but he couldn’t take it back now that it was said. “I’ve only just found out myself. We need to talk it over first, between us.”

Ron stared at him, but then he smiled and nodded. “Good luck, mate.”

Harry smiled back, trying not to look too relieved, and he was just about to walk out of their dorm room when Ron caught him by the shoulder. Harry looked at him questioningly.

“I just wanted to say, congratulations, Harry,” Ron stated, and his smile was genuine. “On...you know.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied gratefully, and he smiled too.

However, that night at dinner, Pansy was sitting so close to Draco that their shoulders touched as she spoon fed him treacle tart.

Harry realized later as he sat alone in the hidden tower in the middle of the night that that should have been his first clue. Afterwards, he lay in his four-poster wishing that he could fall sleep, but his heart ached too much to allow it.

The next morning at breakfast, Harry felt even worse.

Hermione passed him the front page of the Daily Prophet, which boldly asked in big block letters, ‘Has the Boy-Who-Lived become the Boy-Who-Loved?’

Harry grimaced at the accompanying picture which showed him, half-dressed, getting tackled by an overzealous witch. He remembered the incident from that previous summer when he had been trying to buy new robes in Diagon Alley. He didn’t even bother to read the article beneath, which was smattered with various pictures of girls he recognized from the halls of Hogwarts.

“I also hear from Parvati that Malfoy and Parkinson are officially dating now,” Hermione informed him with unnerving care.

Harry just pushed some toast into his mouth then muttered, "I'm sure they deserve each other."

“Just imagine the children they'd spawn,” Ron whispered around a mouthful of eggs, looking horrified.

Transfiguration went by in a haze as Harry tried not to show how hurt he was. Hermione would send him worried looks, but Ron didn’t seem to notice anything amiss for which Harry was grateful. He didn’t think he could stand to talk about what was bothering him if both of them got together and forced the issue.

Harry never saw Draco in the halls between lessons and meals, which made him think that the boy must have been deliberately avoiding him. He didn’t know whether he should feel relieved by this as he had wanted to confront Draco about it, but he hadn’t wanted to see Pansy there with him.

He generally tried to avoid everyone else in the halls as rumors swirled amongst the students of Hogwarts, young and old, about who he could possibly be in love with and why the person’s identity was kept hidden. Some of the rumors he had heard from an amused Seamus in the Gryffindor common room were so unbelievable or disparaging that it made him cringe.

One rumor indicated that his lover was in hiding because Harry had saved her from a Death Eater attack and therefore, she was too horribly disfigured to show her face to the masses. Another rumor said that he was mated to a veela and thus, her identity needed to be kept secret lest You-Know-Who found out about her and killed her in an attempt to kill Harry through the bond (this one, Hermione seemed to find particularly atrocious, because she insisted that Veela mating didn’t operate that way at all). Yet the most disparaging rumor stated that he didn’t actually have a lover, but that he was, in fact, using this to boost his image in the wizarding world and grab headlines after so many months of being ignored by the press.

That night, feeling irritated more than anything, Harry sat alone in the tower for a few hours, before he finally slumped off to Gryffindor and fell onto his four-poster where slept fitfully.

The next morning in the Great Hall, Harry didn't even glance at the Slytherin table, but he could hear Pansy laughing above the din of the student body and he gripped his fork harder than necessary as he stabbed it into his ham.

In Divination, Trelawney told him that she was sorry, but he was fated to die alone and unloved. He laughed bleakly at the irony of it as he sat alone in the empty tower that night, not even noticing the cold snow collecting and melting wetly on his head and shoulders.

Harry nearly fell asleep on a fire-spitting tentacula in Herbology the next day, but Ron managed to pull him up by the scruff of his robes before he fell forward and burned off his face. By that point, even Ron had started to get worried, but Harry just brushed him off when the boy tried to ask what was bothering him.

The tower, of course, was just as empty that night as it had been the nights before that.

However, Care of Magical Creatures that Friday was the worst, as both Draco and Pansy were in the same class with him.  

Hagrid had them look after a pasture of Horklumps, which were basically animals that looked and acted like mushrooms. This inevitably led to a surplus of free time in which Draco and Pansy held hands and spoke secretively together with their heads held close. Harry felt as though his heart was being ripped out and stomped on, and feeding the exceedingly stationary Horklumps their daily meal of earthworms didn’t provide nearly enough excitement to distract him from the feeling.

Yet again, once the lesson had ended, Harry wanted to speak to Draco, but he couldn’t do anything without being conspicuous as their classmates trudged all around them back to the castle.

In the tower that night, Harry cursed himself for hoping, but he still couldn’t forget the image of Draco looking at him softly with an expression of awe, his forehead blazing golden as the same golden glow of Harry’s love was reflected back in his silver eyes.

Harry was awoken the next day by Ron, who gruffly informed him that it was just past noon and would he please get up so they could go to Hogsmeade already. Harry sat up stiffly, having completely forgotten about the Hogsmeade weekend, and slowly trudged to the bathroom as Ron watched, his best mate’s frustration transforming into badly concealed concern.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom fully dressed and waved away Ron’s questions about his well-being before they met Hermione down in the crowded common room. It was cold outside, and Harry barely hid a shiver as the wind chilled his exposed nose. When they finally made it to the village, Harry was grateful when Hermione suggested they go into the Three Broomsticks first. All he wanted to do was sit down in a warm place and eat something.

The blast of warmth upon entering the bustling pub was most welcome upon Harry’s chilled skin and he immediately made his way to a booth and sat down, ignoring the familiar speculative looks he was getting from the other patrons, students and non-students alike. Ron went over to the bar to order some butterbeer while Hermione sat down across from Harry and gazed at him squarely. Harry looked up at her and tensed in trepidation.

“Harry, how long are you going to go on like this?” Her voice was soft and concerned as she placed a hand on top of one of his.

“What are you talking about?” Harry denied. “I’m just really tired.”

“There’s no need to beat around with me, Harry,” Hermione stated with a sigh. “I know all about who you’re in love with.”

Harry stared at her, wondering if continuing down a path of denial would do him any good, before expelling a frustrated breath. He’d already guessed many days ago that she had figured it out but he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Honestly, he was surprised how well she seemed to be taking it. “What do you want me to do, Hermione? I can’t do anything.”

“You need to sort it out before you make yourself ill,” Hermione said softly. “You need to talk to him.”

“Right,” Harry laughed harshly with all the bitterness and helplessness that had been building up in him for days. “That’ll go well.”

“Harry –”

“He’s not in love with me, Hermione,” Harry stated morosely, his voice cracking. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Hermione went silent at that and she sat back in her seat, sighing again as she seemed to calculate whether or not she should say what she clearly wanted to. Harry looked away from her, watching Ron chat with Madam Rosmerta over at the bar, but Hermione seemed to have come to a decision and she sat forward, leaning over the table.

“He stares at you all the time, did you know?”

Harry’s attention snapped back to her, his interest piqued despite his best efforts not to be. “What do you mean?”

“He watches you,” Hermione repeated. “In the Great Hall and during joint lessons. He does it when he knows you aren’t looking.”

She paused, biting her lip and looking down at the table before continuing. Harry held his breath. “He looks like he’s pining after you.”

Harry just stared at her, hope swelling within him, but he didn’t dare believe it to be true. “You must be mistaken, Hermione. Why would he go out with Pansy then?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied. “You’d probably know more about his reasoning than I do.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Harry muttered, frustrated, and he pushed a hand through his messy hair.

“Harry…how did you two –?”

But Hermione stopped when Ron finally made it to the table, three pints of butterbeer sloshing in his arms.

“I think Rosmerta’s a bit smashed. She was chattier than usual.” Ron plopped down in the booth beside Hermione, snaking an arm over her shoulders and settling back. He looked between Harry and then Hermione when they remained silent. “Something happen?”

“No, nothing.” Hermione seemed to snap out of her thoughtful mood, clearly realizing how suspicious she must have looked. “Harry’s just tired.”

“No kidding,” Ron agreed, looking Harry over. “Something wrong, mate? You’ve been looking a bit dodgy since Tuesday.”

“Just can’t sleep well,” Harry replied absently, his mind a bit far away as he thought about Draco and what Hermione had said. “Nothing serious.”

Suddenly, a familiar laugh filled the pub, and Harry stiffened, Hermione sent him a compassionate look before looking toward the door over Harry’s shoulder and frowning.

“Look what the Jarvey dragged in,” Ron muttered with a scowl.

Harry looked toward the bar to his left just as Draco and Pansy walked into view, choosing to sit at a table in the middle of the room and setting two pints of firewhiskey in front of them. Pansy practically sat down in Draco’s lap and the boy did nothing to dissuade her from staying there.

Harry took a quick gulp of his butterbeer, trying to distract himself, but when he slammed the glass back down onto the wooden table, Hermione locked eyes with him and tilted her head in Draco’s direction. Harry grimaced, but didn’t do anything else to acknowledge her expectant gaze. He wasn’t going to do anything; especially not now in a crowded pub where everyone in the school could see.  

Pansy laughed again, high and grating, and Harry had to fight himself not to send her a glare. Instead he took another gulp of his butterbeer.

“Merlin, look at them,” Ron muttered, oblivious to Harry’s turmoil. “Acting like two veela in heat, right there in public!”

Harry made the mistake of looking and saw Pansy kissing Draco’s jaw as he sat back in the chair, arms encircling her waist. Her mouth made it to Draco’s ear and the boy closed his eyes, a smirk on his lips as she whispered something. Then he turned his head and their mouths connected.

Harry saw red, and before he knew it the glasses in front of Draco and Pansy exploded, sending sharp shards and amber liquid in every direction. A chain reaction of glasses belonging to other students exploded as well, including Hermione’s and Ron’s. Harry shook in the booth, trying to control his magic, as the crowded pub filled with startled cries in the aftermath.

Hermione stared at Harry in shock and Ron looked down at Harry’s still-intact glass – a clear sign to anyone who knew magic that Harry must be the epicenter of the destruction.

“Blimey! What was that?”

But Harry ignored Ron and watched Draco with not a small sense of vindication as Pansy jumped up, startled, and tried to wipe the firewhiskey off of her robes. Draco, his eyes wide, was equally soaked, some of the ale suds dripping from his hair and down his face. Then Draco’s eyes connected with Harry’s for the first time in days. He glanced down at Harry’s intact glass and scowled.

“Can’t control your magic, Potter?!”

Everyone in the pub stopped bustling and turned their attention to Draco and then Harry. Harry looked around the room, anger blunting most of the embarrassment he might have felt, and he stood up stiffly.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry ground out. 

Draco’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “You should learn how to control your emotions, Potter.”

“And you should learn how to have them,” Harry snapped, not caring who heard what anymore.

“Emotions are a weakness,” Draco retorted, his expression one of warning. He clearly wanted Harry to keep quiet.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione touched a hand to his arm. In an instant he realized what he had almost done and how disastrous it would have been. Hermione sent him an understanding look.

“Let’s go, Harry,” she stated simply.

Harry took in a shaky, calming breath and nodded, not wanting to look at Draco anymore.

“Typical of the great Harry Potter to leave and not compensate everyone for the mess he’s caused,” Draco sneered as Harry made his way to the door behind Hermione, followed closely by a very confused Ron.

“Shut it, ferret!” Ron retorted heatedly as Harry and Hermione turned around. “It was an accident."

“An accident most wizards learn how to control before they reach Hogwarts,” Draco retorted easily as he brushed a stray wet strand of hair off of his forehead. “Can we be sure a wizard that devolved can be trusted to defeat You-Know-Who?”

The rest of the pub burst into low murmurs and gasps.

Harry took a step forward and pulled out his wand so quickly it looked to be pure reflex, pointing it straight at Draco’s heart from across his table. “I will kill him. _Trust_ me.”

Harry willed the boy to understand what he really meant, his gaze fixed upon Draco’s face, and Draco looked a little shocked at first, but then his eyes turned cold. “As I said, you should learn to control your emotions.”

“You should learn to stop denying yours,” Harry muttered lowly, meaning it for Draco’s ears alone. Even though Pansy was standing very close, she shouldn’t have been able to hear it, and at a glance it seemed she hadn’t because she was scowling between Harry and Draco in confusion.

Draco’s eyes widened a bit, but his lips tightened and after a long moment of just staring at Harry he finally looked away. Then he spared Pansy a glance. “We’re leaving, Pansy.”

She gave Harry a menacing look, but dutifully complied. Harry watched as the two swept out of the Three Broomsticks in a cloud of snow.

Harry looked back at all the eyes on him in the pub and sighed wearily. Hermione placed a warm hand on his shoulder and Ron stepped up beside him, muttering something nasty about Malfoy under his breath.

Harry remembered Draco’s snide remarks and looked up. “I’m sorry everyone, your next pints are on me.”

After a short pause, the pub was filled with cheers, and Harry’s galleon sack was pounds lighter when he finally escaped about an hour later with Ron and Hermione at his side.


	6. The Daily Prophet

By dinner time, everyone in the school had heard about Harry’s loss of control and the subsequent confrontation with Draco at the Three Broomsticks. Yet again, he was the most popular topic of conversation in the Great Hall over Mince pie and treacle tart. However, Hermione, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville remained blessedly silent on the subject, choosing instead to speak on the merits of Professional Quidditch versus muggle Football.

Harry was grateful, but it didn’t much help his mood. He barely ate, even as Ron took to giving him sidelong looks of concern between mouthfuls. Hermione seemed to understand and she mercifully let him be.  

As he walked up the stairs to the tower that night, he told himself it would be the last time. He couldn’t do this to himself anymore. Malfoy was an arse. He always had been and he would continue to be. It was best if he just learned to let it alone.

However, as he stopped at the top step, his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.

Draco, who sat on the impost beneath the archway, turned his head as Harry slid out of his invisibility cloak and finally forced himself to move. Draco jerked a nod when he stopped beside him.

“You’re here,” Harry stated lamely, trying to decide whether to feel relieved or irritated.

Draco merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Why?” Harry asked when Draco offered nothing more.

“Why do you think?” Draco scoffed.

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked,” Harry snapped, all of his frustration boiling over. “What the hell, Draco?”

Draco glared at him. “I could just leave.”

Harry shook his head and groaned, “You’re such an arse, Malfoy. I don’t even…” He huffed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. Malfoy was just watching him expectantly and Harry sent him a withering look. “Why have you been ignoring me since Potions, and why, in the name of Merlin, are you dating _Pansy Parkinson_?!”

Draco frowned at him, before gazing moodily out over the grounds as it sleeted, the wet gusts dampening his hair.

Harry sat down on the impost opposite him and let out a breath, realizing how pointless it was to get worked up when Draco could be just as stubborn. His voice was softer the next time he spoke. “What happened?”

“I can’t see you anymore,” Draco replied evasively, avoiding his gaze.

“Because you love Pansy?” Harry asked, and the idea of it hurt, the words burning his tongue.

“You’re really stupid, you know that?” Draco asked, and suddenly he was glaring at Harry. “Bloody Gryffindor.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” Harry retorted.

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he looked away again, clearly not wanting to say anything more.

Harry wanted to yell at him, but he just pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes in frustration instead. “For the love of Merlin, would it kill you to just give me a straight answer?”

Draco remained silent, his features pinched.

Harry turned away in disgust, pacing a bit in before he turned around and glared at Malfoy again.

“What? So you just came up here to see me and tell me that you _can’t_ see me?!” Harry questioned heatedly. “You couldn’t have possibly told me this after potions, or before I’d been coming up here every night, thinking you’d be here too?"

Draco didn't say anything, his expression pinched.

Harry pushed a hand through his hair again. He knew the top of his head probably looked more like a bird’s nest than ever, but as usual, he didn’t care. He sat down on the impost and the fight seeped out of him. He was at a loss. Hermione's words and Draco's actions didn't add up. “You couldn’t possibly have told me this before you’d started ignoring me and going out with Pansy? Or at least before I’d learned that I was _in love_ with you, could you?”

Harry stiffened. He hadn’t meant to say that last part, even though Draco had more than likely deduced it himself after their last Potions lesson. It was different to actually say it, and Draco’s reaction didn’t help. The boy was now staring at him, wide-eyed and paler than usual. Harry ran a hand agitatedly through his hair, intending to back-pedal. “Look, it doesn't –”

“Shut it, Potter,” Draco snapped hoarsely, his cold mask breaking into something desperate. “Just shut up.”

And then Draco was on him, hands running through his hair and lips pressing insistently against his. Harry gasped in surprise and Draco’s tongue invaded his mouth. Harry grunted when his shoulder blades and spine hit against the hard rock wall behind him, but then he pushed forward, licking into Draco’s mouth as Draco's fingers wound into his hair.

They pulled away for air and Harry gasped, “ Draco…what –?”

But Draco claimed his mouth again and moved his hands around to Harry’s back, frantically kneading the muscles there through layers of clothing.   Harry tried to pull him closer, but their precarious positions on the impost made that impossible. So Harry slid off of the ledge and pulled Draco off with him. He sat on the floor, still kissing Draco and the boy slid agreeably onto his lap, pale hands once again twisting in his already messy hair.

Suddenly, nimble fingers unbuttoned his winter cloak as Draco continued to tease him with the press of his lips. Harry barely felt the resultant chill as the cloak hit the floor before those same expert hands began working on his robes. He tried to pull away from the kiss as his robes were pushed off to join the cloak, but then Draco leaned forward and nipped at his jaw and sucked at a particularly sensitive spot just over his pulse point.

Harry was trapped in a haze when his shirt met the same fate, the skin of his torso completely exposed to the chill winter air. But when pale fingers found his trouser fly, Harry’s eyes snapped open and he tensed.

Draco seemed to notice, because he actually pulled back with a questioning look, his breathing rapid and cheeks flushed.  

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, a bit breathless, trying to get his wits about him and failing slightly as his eyes found Draco’s plump bruised lips.

“I’m going to give you what you want,” Draco replied huskily, and parts of Harry that were quite amenable to the sentiment perked up in interest, but Harry didn’t allow that to override his brain.

“But what do _you_ want?” Harry questioned suspiciously. “I thought you were with Pansy?”

Draco frowned at him. “You talk too much, Potter.”

Harry couldn’t avoid Draco’s lips as the boy lunged forward and claimed his mouth again. He was sent backward against the cold stone floor of the tower, but his head was pillowed by Draco’s hands as the boy followed him down to lie on top of him. Draco licked Harry’s bottom lip, rolling his hips against Harry’s, and Harry groaned. "You can't distract me forever."

"I can try," Draco bit out as he sat up and his fingers found Harry’s fly once again. Harry looked down blearily as the adept fingers undid every button and then tugged at his trousers. He lifted his hips, complying without thinking, and the trousers were slid down his legs and off, followed quickly by his boxers. Harry shivered as the cold air hit his bare skin and Draco stared down at him.

"Draco..." Harry made to sit up, attacked by a fit of self-consciousness, but then a hand landed on his chest just below his shoulder and pushed him back down. Harry’s eyes widened when Draco stood up and took off his own clothing, layer by layer, never looking away from Harry. Draco’s gray eyes gleamed silver at him in the dark and Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat, his mouth dry. The tension built in his gut as Draco revealed himself, lit by the bit of moonlight that slipped through the clouds.

“Erm…” Harry breathed in slight awe, and the Draco smirked and sat back down, his pale knees landing on either side of Harry’s lower legs before bending forward.

Draco took Harry into his mouth and Harry hissed, his hips arching involuntarily. Harry looked down to see Draco’s blond head bobbing up and down, a pale hand holding the base of his shaft, and he couldn’t stifle a groan. He could feel Draco’s lips tighten in a ring as he sucked and he could hear the small noises that he made with his mouth. The tension built in his groin until it was painful, begging for release.

He bucked his hips up to meet Draco’s rhythm, but then the boy pressed a forearm down on his stomach to keep him still and Harry grunted in frustration as Draco’s pace became slower and more languid.

“Draco…I need –” Harry blurted, feeling the familiar burn twist in his gut, but not getting nearly enough stimulation for release.

He gasped in alarm when Draco pulled away entirely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Bloody…you can’t just –” Harry groaned, but Draco interrupted him.

“Patience, Potter,” Draco smirked before stretching back with an arm to retrieve something from within his robes. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve never been patient, Malfoy,” Harry bit back breathlessly.

Draco ignored him, pulling out his wand and muttering something under his breath. Suddenly, Harry could feel something wet and oily cover his erection, and he watched in confused trepidation as Draco pointed the wand behind him and muttered something under his breath again. Draco sighed and then threw his wand to the side, apparently having no more use for it. He crawled over Harry and lowered his hips to roll languorously against his.

Harry moaned at the friction and grasped at Draco’s bare hips with his hands, pulling the boy down to do it again as he thrust up against Draco’s heated flesh. Draco shivered and fell forward, his head landing beside Harry’s just above his left shoulder. Harry could hear Draco’s erratic breathing in his ear as he pulled the boy’s hips down to meet his thrusts again and again.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry gasped as the tension in his gut grew to a near breaking point.

Draco just kissed his jaw with his open mouth, warm breaths fanning against Harry’s cheek. Both of them moaned when their cocks met again. Harry knew he was dangerously close, but he whimpered when Draco abruptly sat up.

Harry hissed at the cold fingers that grasped the base of his erection, but just as he was about to ask what Draco was doing, the boy was looking down at him in such a way that left Harry speechless. Draco’s eyes softened and his once stoic features held a hint of vulnerability. Then he lifted his hips and Harry could feel the tip of his cock hit warm resistance.

Harry gasped in anticipation before Draco lowered his hips, leaving Harry surrounded by an indescribably tight heat.

“Hah…” Harry panted in shock at the tight ring of muscle moving down to the base of his shaft and scrambled to find purchase with his fingers into the flesh of Draco’s outer thighs.

By the time Draco lowered himself completely, Harry was a breathless, trembling mess. Being inside of Draco was tighter and hotter than he had ever thought it would be, and he could barely contain the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. He let out a sort of strangled grunt instead and looked down at the half-pained expression tightening Draco’s features. Harry worried for a moment, wondering if Draco was in pain. Even through his euphoria, He wanted to comfort him somehow, but he didn’t know how. Draco was controlling the movement. Just that thought alone made Harry tremble with need.

Draco was already slicked with sweat, his pale chest heaving with every breath he took. Harry, himself, was trying to control his own breathing and keep his hips from thrusting upward with abandon as he looked at Draco sitting there on his lap, the boy’s bobbing erection glistening with precum at the tip.

Draco shifted a little and Harry felt the ring of muscles squeeze deliciously around the base of his cock. Draco started to look more confident as he got used to the feel of Harry inside of him, and rolled his hips experimentally. Harry let out a strangled groan.

“That feels so good,” Harry gasped.

“Good,” Draco replied roughly with a slight smirk tugging at his lips, and he did it again.

Harry couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting upward, but Draco didn’t seem to mind. He lifted his hips when Harry’s went down and when they met again Harry drove in deeper at different angles. Pure bliss twisted in his stomach, which sent tingles of pleasure to his curling toes. Draco shifted and repeated the motion, meeting Harry’s thrust again. This time, Draco moaned audibly, his sweat-slickened abdominal muscles clenching as his expression twisted with pleasure.

Harry couldn’t help himself and grasped at Draco’s hips, controlling the rhythm and making the pace faster until they were both trembling and gasping for breath. Harry was close to the edge, his stomach tightening in anticipation, when Draco wrapped a hand around his own cock and fisted it. Harry stiffened at the sight, watching the boy pleasure himself and grunt needily with every thrust.  

With those visuals and the maddening heat and friction surrounding him, Harry’s stomach tightened warningly and he reached an earth-shattering orgasm that rocked through his body and ripped Draco’s name from his lips.

Draco fisted himself faster as Harry trembled with his release, and soon Draco joined him, groaning and gasping Harry’s name as he released stickily onto Harry’s stomach.

It was a long while before Draco finally fell tiredly on top of Harry, his blond head falling upon his shoulder as Harry’s sensitive, softening cock slipped out of him.

Harry tried to catch his breath as Draco’s quick, hot gasps fanned out over his naked shoulder and chest. He tiredly slid his hands up Draco’s sides and onto his back, caressing the sweaty skin with his thumbs.

It had been his first time and Harry still felt the aftershocks of his orgasm, his skin tingling everywhere it connected with Draco’s enticingly nude flesh. He was tired and absolutely, blissfully sated, but he couldn’t let himself fall asleep.

“Why did you do that?” Harry questioned again, absently pressing a kiss to the top of Draco’s head as contentment lingered in his veins like a heady drug.  

“You should know why,” Draco evaded with a sigh, and the fingers of his hand lying on Harry’s chest twitched a bit.

“I need you to say it,” Harry stated simply, feeling too tired to get worked up over Draco’s hedging.

“You saw why in potions,” Draco mumbled, his voice softer than before.

Harry looked down and then his eyes widened, his thumbs stopped moving. “You mean –”

“Yes,” Draco replied, his lips moving against Harry’s chest and sending pleasant tingles up and down his skin.

“You love me, too,” Harry clarified with slight awe and no small amount of relief. “But then why date Pansy?”

“That should be obvious.” But then Draco sighed, apparently realizing that Harry wouldn’t be happy with that answer. “I needed to protect myself.”

“You were afraid,” Harry supplied, and Draco’s head snapped up so that now he was looking down at Harry and glaring.

“I was not afraid,” Draco frowned, and Harry gave in to the urge to kiss him.

Draco allowed it, even moving his lips against his in response, before Harry lay back down against the stone floor with a soft smile. “Okay, so what were you _not_ afraid of?”

Draco sent him a look, before putting on an affected air. “Well, I certainly wasn’t afraid of _you_ …or really, anything, for that matter. “

“So you’re not in love with Pansy?”

“Absolutely not.” And Draco looked disgusted at the prospect.

“But, you were kissing her and letting her drape herself all over you at the Three Broomsticks.”

“For show,” Draco replied simply.

“You’re using her,” Harry observed, and Draco's plan suddenly made sense.

Draco opened his mouth, appearing as though he might say something scathing, but then he closed it and looked tired instead. “Yes.”

“Draco –”

“I can’t have my father find out, Harry,” Draco cut in.   “Using Pansy is the only way I could think to keep everything a secret. The spies are in Hogwarts. That’s what you’ve seen, correct?”

Harry nodded soberly. “Dumbledore thinks so.”

Draco looked down with a frown.

“You thought you could ignore me, date Pansy, and make me hate you.” Harry clarified. “Then you could make our mutual enmity public. That’s why you egged me on in Hogsmeade.”

Draco didn’t say anything.

Harry frowned, taking the silence as confirmation enough. “And, of course, I'd fallen for it."

Draco laid his head back on Harry’s chest, and Harry sighed, pushing a hand through his blond locks and running the soft hair through his fingers. He could still feel the aftereffects of his orgasm, making him tired but keeping his nerves sensitive to Draco’s every movement on top of him.

“So,” Harry began hesitantly. “I suppose you’d done that before, then.”

Draco let out a short chuckle against Harry’s chest. “No more than you have, I'm sure.”

“So, not at all,” Harry replied bluntly, which he regretted when Draco pulled his head up to stare at him incredulously.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that Harry Potter was a virgin.”

Harry frowned and shrugged self-consciously. “More or less.”

“You mean I was the first bloke you’ve slept with?” Draco clarified, and while he still appeared disbelieving, he also looked a bit awed by the prospect.

“First anyone. I mean, it’s not like I’ve had a lot of time,” Harry added defensively, and at Draco’s shocked expression he was quite painfully made aware that for Draco it was not the same. “Why? How many have you had?”

Draco stared at him calculatingly, as if he was deciding whether or not he should answer, before he let out a breath. “Two.”

The answer sounded honest enough to Harry, and he couldn't help asking. “Who?”

“A boy in France when I was fourteen,” Draco murmured. “Then...Blaise after a night of getting thoroughly pissed on Firewhiskey. That had been a mistake, and we, neither of us, ever spoke of it afterward.”

Harry’s fingers clenched against the soft skin of Draco’s back as he processed that information, not really knowing how he should feel about. “But you’d never…with Pansy?”

“No, definitely not,” Draco shook his head slightly and looked positively disgusted at the thought. “I’m fairly off the market as far as girls are concerned.”

“I see,” Harry muttered, but it was a bit of a relief.

He hadn’t wanted to believe that Draco and Pansy could have possibly been getting physical behind closed doors during that past week. Just the thought of it made his chest hurt. He wrapped his arms more securely around Draco’s body and caressed his back. Draco surveyed him critically for a couple more moments before he dropped his head back down, resting his cheek on Harry’s chest.

“I had no idea I was your first,” Draco murmured. Harry could feel his lips move against his skin.

“Thought I’d been off shagging my adoring fans?” Harry stated.

“Something like that,” Draco replied, and Harry huffed.

“Well, you certainly seemed to think my life exciting,” Harry observed, a frown of his own tugging at his lips. "Sorry to disappoint."

“I’m glad,” Draco murmured, and Harry’s bad feelings disappeared.

“So am I,” Harry finally stated, and he kissed the top of Draco’s head again.

They fell into a peaceful silence before Draco murmured, “I’ll have to stay with Pansy.”

Harry tensed, although he'd known that was true, and let out a frustrated breath.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “Will you at least meet me here at night?”

“I’ll try,” Draco answered. “It’s hard to get away when Pansy’s in that certain mood.”

Harry’s hand clenched in Draco’s hair, imagining just what that ‘certain mood’ entailed. “Just don’t let her...I mean, unless you want...”

“Potter.” And Draco lifted his head to look down at him with a smirk. "Shut up."

“I hate you,” Harry muttered.

But Draco's smirk stayed on his lips even when he pressed them to Harry's, and Harry didn't put up much of a fight.

The following weeks passed in a state of bliss for Harry, withholding the occasional instance in which he had to see Draco and Pansy together. At least at night, Draco belonged to him.

Sometimes they didn’t even do anything physical, they just talked and held each other. In the tower, Draco was a completely different person, more relaxed, less haughty, and easier to tease. Harry reveled in it, and any time he saw Draco sneering at him in the halls or ignoring him during lessons, he only had to remember how Draco smiled every night they were able to meet in the tower, snow falling around them.

Hermione seemed to notice the change in his spirits, but she didn’t comment on it. She merely smiled at Harry as she pushed more toast onto his plate at breakfast or when she, albeit exasperatedly, passed him and Ron her notes after lessons. She still seemed confused as to why Draco and Pansy were still a couple, but Harry didn’t say anything. He thought it was best, for Draco’s sake, that Draco’s public relationship remained as believable as possible.

The only thing to put a damper on Harry’s good mood were the continuing rumors about his secret love life, which became more and more implausible or derogatory as the days wore on. There was also the nagging reminder at the back of his mind that the winter hols were fast approaching, only two weeks away.

He didn’t speak about it with Draco. It hung in the air forebodingly like a phantom spirit, but every once and a while he would think of it and pull Draco tighter into his arms. The boy would go silent and hold him back, seeming to understand the dark turn Harry’s thoughts had taken, but not voicing it either. They would cling like this for a while before Harry managed to pull himself together and talk about something else.

Harry spent his free time thinking about how he could make Draco stay and not get the Mark, and was frustrated each time when he concluded that he didn’t have any good ideas. He had already exhausted trying to reason with Draco about it, and he wasn’t going to force him even if he wanted to.

That Saturday was the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and Harry watched Draco in the stands almost as much as he searched for the Snitch. He was lucky that Cho Chang‘s broom was slower, because he hadn’t seen the golden ball as quickly as she had before they’d both zoomed after it.

Harry landed to be greeted by a pile of his celebratory teammates as the Gryffindor-supporters in the stands roared with applause. He laughed and hugged them all, including Hermione who had run down from the stands the moment he’d landed, but his eyes automatically searched out Draco in the stands. The boy was already watching him, a smirk tugging at his lips as Pansy clung to his side. It was the closest the boy would get to a smile in public. Harry kissed the snitch and smirked back, hoping that Draco got the message.

That catch was for him.

That night, Harry escaped Gryffindor later than usual due to the boisterous celebration being held in the common room, and he entered the tower to have Draco leap into his arms and kiss him passionately, nearly sending them both back down the stairs with the force of the collision.

Harry groaned appreciatively as Draco ran his hands through his hair, and they both shed their clothes quickly. It wasn’t long before Harry entered Draco’s warmth from behind as the boy leaned against the ledge, panting and moaning deliriously with every thrust. Harry kissed Draco’s spine and mumbled sweet nothings against his sweaty skin, feeling closer to Draco than he ever had before, reveling in the warmth that came off their overheated flesh and made them sweat in the chill air.

It was only a matter of time, Draco moaning and clenching tightly around him that Harry staggered and cried out with his release. Draco reached climax only seconds later, shuddering and crying out his own euphoria into the cold night air.

Euphoric and sated, Harry nearly sobbed at the rightness of it all when Draco collapsed back into his arms and Harry wrapped a stray cloak around their naked bodies. They sat together on the cold floor, kissing and caressing each other’s skin, whispering to each other and laughing softly until fatigue caught up with them and they finally had to part.

That night, in bed, he dreamed of Draco’s welcoming warmth and sweat-slicked skin until something burned it all away and replaced the scene with blazing agony and dark amusement.

Harry awoke with a gasp and a terrible sense of foreboding as the scar burned on his forehead with every pulse of his heart. It was still dark in the room as he sat there panting, trying to remember what he had seen and failing. He could only remember the strong emotions that weren’t his own, and even then it didn’t tell him much.

He rubbed his scar, which had slowly stopped burning and had ebbed to a low ache, before he lay back down and tried to go back to sleep. By the time he finally drifted off, morning light was creeping along the ceiling above his bed.

Ron woke him up at around noon and they both walked down to an already empty common room, as it was Sunday and most people were either still asleep or at lunch. They ate a quick lunch and then met Hermione in the library to study.

The foreboding feeling never left Harry all day. Hermione had to constantly regain his attention as his gaze found the window to the grounds, mind wandering with anxiety.

He didn’t see Draco all day either, which was usual for a Sunday, but it only worked to set Harry further on edge, and when Draco never showed up in the tower that night, which had also not been unusual for a Sunday, Harry only felt worse.

He went to bed nervous and exhausted, and yet again his scar burned in the middle of the night. He had to force himself to sleep and not worry, as he had gained no more information than the night before. There were no visions, only emotions of cold satisfaction and malicious anticipation.

“Breakfast, mate.”

Harry woke up groggily to see the blurred image of Ron looking down at him between the openings of his bed curtains. He fumbled for his glasses and pushed them on, putting Ron into focus, before sitting up as the boy walked into the bathroom. All the other boys in the dorm room were getting up as well, their movements sluggish with typical Monday morning fatigue.   Seamus grunted at him in greeting, and Harry nodded, running a hand through his hair and standing up to pick out his robes.

They all trudged down to the Great Hall together per usual, their movements still a bit lethargic despite their showers, but the moment Ron pushed through the doors, Harry noticed immediately that something was off.

It was usual for some students take notice of him when he walked into the hall, but this time, all of the students in the room turned to stare at him, the usual din of their conversations dying off into hushed whispers. Even the professors at the head table were watching him, McGonagall looking about as worried as Snape looked disgusted.

“What’s gotten into everyone?” Ron whispered, noticing it too, and Harry frowned.

Neville looked around anxiously, and even Seamus and Dean appeared a little on edge as they made their way to the Gryffindor table.          

Hermione was sending Harry urgent looks from her seat at the table, and the foreboding feeling that had haunted Harry for most of the previous day returned with a vengeance.

Harry sat stiffly and sent Hermione a questioning look. Hermione handed him that morning’s edition of the _Daily Prophet_ as if it was a warrant for his arrest. Harry swallowed, keenly feeling all the eyes on him and hearing the whispers behind his back. He took the paper with a shaking hand. Hermione was biting her lip, but she didn’t say anything.   Ron leaned over his shoulder and stared down at the page, as Seamus, Dean, and Neville stood on the other side.

Ron’s gasp was audible.

Harry finally gathered his courage and looked down at the front page. What he saw made him freeze with horror.

There, where a headline should be, was a large wizarding photograph of him and Draco kissing in the tower. Draco’s hands were in his hair and Harry’s arms were wrapped tightly around Draco’s waist as their lips moved against each other passionately. Just below that was a headline in bold letters, _SHOCK: BOY-WHO-LIVED SNOGS SON OF DEATH EATER!_

Harry dropped the paper onto his plate as if burned. He could feel the shock of his housemates pushing against him as if it was a tangible force and he couldn’t bring himself to look at any of them, especially Ron who had stiffened behind him.

Harry couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The photographer had been in the Room of Requirement, and for all Harry had hypothesized that anyone could possibly get in while they were in the tower, it was still a shock to see proof of it. Someone had been in the Room of Requirement with them at one point, and neither he nor Draco had been aware of it.    

“Harry –” Hermione spoke into the silence, but just at that moment the doors to the great hall opened and Pansy’s familiar laugh filtered in.   Hermione’s eyes widened, and Harry tensed.

Slowly, Harry turned and saw Draco enter the hall, Pansy and Blaise beside him. Draco’s expression slowly transformed from vague amusement to confusion and slight alarm as every eye in the hall turned to him. The Slytherins at the table, especially, were regarding him with a mixture of shock and disgust, and Draco seemed taken aback by their surveillance for a moment, faltering in his steps and regarding them warily.

He bravely collected himself and moved forward stiffly, the change in attitude so quick that Harry might have imagined the pause, before Draco sat down at his usual place. Someone at the Slytherin table threw a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in front of Draco, and Harry gripped the edge of the table painfully as Draco, Pansy, and Blaise looked down at the front page.

Pansy gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth, as she turned her incredulous gaze to Draco. Blaise didn’t seem to react, but he watched Draco carefully. Draco had stiffened and was now looking as though he would be happiest if the earth turned inside out and swallowed him up.

Eventually, Draco pulled his eyes away from the Prophet and looked up to find Harry’s gaze. Harry could see every thought and feeling that Draco had, starting with horror and ending in accusation.

Harry shook his head, his mouth open as if he might say something to make it right, anything to deny what was happening, but there was nothing to say.

Draco wasted little time in standing back up, his movements jerky and awkward. He didn’t look at anyone, even as someone on the other end of the Slytherin table taunted him.

“That’s right, traitor! Get out of here, Potter’s poof!”

A bunch of Slytherins laughed and jeered, and Draco quickly made his way out the door of the Great Hall, the clack of his shoes echoing in the remaining silence.

With only a moment’s hesitation, and keenly aware that he was once again the center of attention, Harry broke out of Ron’s stiff hold upon his shoulder. He ignored Hermione’s call for him and got up to run after Draco.

“Draco!”

Harry burst through the doors and looked around frantically, but Draco was nowhere in sight. Harry cursed and then went with his gut instincts, which told him that Draco would have probably escaped to the grounds, away from any accusing eyes.

Harry pushed through the front doors of the castle and squinted into the sunlight, which was reflecting brightly off of the fresh snow. He spotted Draco walking quickly toward the lake, and ran after him.

“Draco!”

Draco whirled around as Harry neared and his glare was almost enough to stop Harry in his tracks. “Stay away from me, Potter!”

“Draco…stop!” Harry yelled as the boy turned back around, and he ran faster, catching the boy by the elbow and whirling him around again.

“Let go of me!” Draco shouted, enraged, and he made to shove Harry in the chest, but Harry blocked it with his arm, catching hold of Draco’s wrist.

“Draco…I’m sorry!” Harry blurted, not really knowing what else to say, as he felt so horrible himself.

“I don’t want your apologies!” Draco shouted, and he looked fit to burst. Harry had never seen the boy so angry. “Just stay away from me! Never come near me again!”

“Draco…” Harry kept his tone as level as he could, but Draco glared at him coldly. “It’ll be all right…if we just –”

“Shut up!” Draco interjected, and he pulled his wrist out of Harry’s grasp. “It won’t be alright! It’ll never be alright! My father…my father will –!”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Harry insisted, knowing that they had gone over this many times before, but not knowing what else to say. “Just let me protect you. Let Dumbledore –”

“You can’t protect me!” Draco shouted. “My father will find a way!”

“Then I’ll stop your father!” Harry retorted.

Draco’s eyes narrowed incredulously, and he turned to swiftly walk away.   Harry stumbled after him and caught Draco around the waist from behind before he could get too far, pulling the boy back against him and burying his face into Draco’s shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Draco,” Harry murmured, his arms tightening around Draco’s stiff torso. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen either. I didn’t know —”

“But it did,” Draco interrupted. “And now I want nothing to do with you.”

Harry shook his head. He knew Draco couldn’t be serious. “You don’t mean that.”

Draco was silent.

“What are you planning, Draco?” Harry questioned urgently against Draco’s neck. “Where else could you go where you would be safe? Let me help you.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Draco’s voice was low now, and broken. Harry could feel Draco’s body shake in his arms. “But you can’t.”

The next thing Harry knew, he was sent sprawling upon the snow. He looked up, feeling as though he’d been hit by a bus, and saw Draco standing over him, his wand raised and trembling. Harry could see droplets clinging to Draco’s eyelashes, shining in the sunlight. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

And then Draco left, and Harry stared up at the bright blue sky, aching from the unexpected stunner as the snow melted through his cloak and chilled his skin. Moments later, Hermione ran over to him and he looked up to see her worried brown eyes staring down at him.

He didn’t say anything as she helped him up. He looked around blearily and could only just see the black spot of Draco’s distant form walking toward the other side of the lake. He wanted to call after him, but he knew it was useless.

“Harry,” Hermione stated softly and she pulled him in for a hug.

He remained motionless in her arms for a long moment. Then he grasped onto her and held her tight, burying his face in her hair, but he didn't let it linger. He ended the embrace and stepped back, his mind a jumble.

“We have to go to Potions,” Hermione murmured.

Harry shook his head, not looking at her as he rubbed his eyelids behind his glasses. “I’m not going.”

She looked ready to protest, but then she stopped and scrutinized him.

“All right,” She murmured. “At least come back to the castle. It’s cold out here.”

Harry nodded and she took his hand. He followed her until he saw Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville and a gaggle of other students who had probably followed Harry out to see the confrontation with Draco, standing on the steps. He stopped abruptly, but Hermione tugged at his hand and he was forced to keep walking. Harry avoided Ron’s gaze as he passed, but Ron would have none of it.

“Malfoy?” Ron muttered lowly, and then his voice got louder. “You’ve been snogging _Malfoy_?”

“Ron, don’t,” Hermione admonished.

“You knew?” Ron asked Hermione accusingly, and Harry finally looked at him, seeing the boy’s scowl.

“I figured it out,” Hermione replied waspishly. “It wasn’t hard.”

Ron looked stung, but his accusing gaze switched to Harry. “Harry, how could you?”

He said it as though Harry had decided to join Voldemort and kill Weasleys for sport. Harry merely looked at Ron, a sort of numbness muting any shame he might have felt.

“Fine, you won’t talk to me?” Ron asked bitterly. “Well, that isn’t much different from usual, is it?”

And then he turned around stiffly and walked back toward the castle.

“Ron!” Hermione called, but he didn’t waver or look back before he disappeared behind the front doors.

Harry watched him leave, knowing he should feel some sort of loss or irritation, but he didn’t feel anything. Hermione looked at the spot where Ron had disappeared with keen exasperation, and then sent Harry a concerned look. Seamus, Dean, and Neville walked up to him, and Seamus patted him on the back.

“He’ll come round, Harry,” Seamus stated soberly. “You’ll see.”

“Malfoy too,” Dean added, and Harry’s gaze snapped up to him, just the thought of Draco piercing him in the heart.

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied, voice uneven, and he shook his head as all the belated emotions of pain and shame finally washed over him. Deep down he knew Draco hadn’t left him because he’d wanted to, but because he thought he had to. Draco was frightened. He clearly believed his life was in danger, and he didn’t trust Harry to be able to protect him.

Dean merely looked at him sadly, offering no further words of encouragement. He, too, seemed uncertain.

That night, Harry didn’t go to the Room of Requirement. He didn’t even leave his four-poster. He’d skipped dinner and Hermione had been kind enough to bring him back something from the table, along with notes and his next assignment from Potions.

He had been surprised that Snape hadn’t given him detention, but Hermione said McGonagall had probably convinced him to desist due to the circumstances. Although, Hermione added that McGonagall would probably not be as lenient if he missed Transfiguration the next day. Harry nodded morosely at the obvious truth to her statement.

Harry knew it wasn’t safe to go to the Room of Requirement anymore. Anyone who looked at the picture in the Daily Prophet would probably think he and Draco had been kissing in the Astronomy tower, but Harry knew that the person who had taken that photograph wasn’t one of them, and it would be easy for that person to tell others. He also didn’t much care for being caught by an expectant Snape or Filch awaiting him in random corridors at night. Besides, it was very unlikely that Draco would be there waiting for him.

He couldn’t go anywhere else either due to all the students in the castle who were pointing and whispering and, in the Slytherins’ case, sneering and threatening him with hexes. Hermione had informed him before she had left that Draco hadn’t been in Potions or in the Great Hall either, and Harry wondered where Draco was or if he might still be out there by the lake. He had to believe that Draco wasn’t senseless enough to leave the grounds.

Underneath it all, Harry worried for him. He didn’t know what would happen to Draco in the Slytherin dungeons amongst his peers now that they knew. He hoped that, at worst, they would just ignore him, but somehow he doubted that. Although, that concern paled in comparison to his worries about what Draco’s father and Voldemort might do.

Harry punched his pillow, before pushing his face into it and letting out a frustrated groan. Just last night he had been with Draco in the tower, making love to him, and now, due to one wizard photograph, Draco was in grave danger.

That brought Harry’s melancholic thoughts to who could have possibly known about his and Draco’s nighttime trysts in the hidden tower and taken that picture of them. He also wondered why they would send the photograph to the Daily Prophet. They could have done any number of things with it, even used it for blackmail or sent it directly to Voldemort, but they’d sent it to the wizarding press instead. He supposed any picture like that would be compensated for a considerable sum, but Harry couldn’t help thinking that their intentions were more dubious than adding value to their Gringotts vault. After all, as a result of the photo’s publicity, not only was his relationship with Draco in jeopardy, but Draco’s life was in danger.

Harry’s mind inevitably turned toward Snape, but even though he believed Snape to be a spy for Voldemort, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that Snape wouldn’t willingly put Draco in danger. Draco was his favorite pupil and whenever Draco was hurt, Snape would inevitably be there, hovering over him like an overgrown bat, until he made sure Draco had recovered. Harry knew that it was weak logic, given that Snape was probably skilled at lying and acting the opposite of how he felt, and he would most likely have no choice but to follow Voldemort’s orders if that was what the megalomaniac wished. However, Harry’s gut was telling him it wasn’t the greasy-haired vulture, and he rarely ignored his instincts when they had saved him so often in the past.

And why had Voldemort been so happy for the past two nights? Did it have something to do with the photograph? Had he seen it before it had been released to the Daily Prophet?

Harry frowned and turned onto his side. He had to protect Draco, even if the boy didn’t want it. He couldn’t just stand by if Draco’s life was in danger, especially if it was because of Harry’s relationship with him. He just had to figure out how to do it, even if the boy came to despise him more. Harry bit his lip and squeezed the sheets on his mattress with his fist in frustration. He didn’t want Draco to hate him anymore, but he had little choice. At this point, he couldn’t hope for more than at least protecting the boy from a distance.

Just then, Harry heard the door to the dorm room open and footsteps shuffled in heavily before the bed across from his creaked under someone’s weight. Harry held his breath, knowing it was Ron on the other side, getting ready for bed. The boy probably knew Harry was there, but didn’t say anything. Harry felt a stab of irritation at the thought that Ron probably didn’t want to talk to him.

He loved Ron like a brother and usually the boy was loyal to a fault, but when Ron got stubborn about something, it was difficult to change his mind; and right now, Harry knew that Ron was angry with him for falling in love with the enemy. Nothing else seemed to matter. Harry would never be able to convince him that Draco was innocent; well, not exactly innocent, but not a Death Eater, at least. So he wasn’t going to try.  

Harry grimaced and turned over so that his back faced his closed bed-curtains. If Ron couldn’t accept it then Harry resolved not to worry about it. He had enough to worry about with Draco.

In another part of the castle, Draco entered the Slytherin dungeons and made his way through the common room where a number of previously lounging students stiffened and watched him with judging eyes. Draco ignored them, his façade cool and collected as he went down the stairs, deeper into the subterranean structure of Slytherin House, and entered his dorm room.

He searched the room and found it empty, but stopped when two golden eyes of a familiar eagle owl glowed at him in the dark. Draco went rigid, staring at the bird wide-eyed, but then he pulled out his wand and cautiously made his way over to the desk where the bird was perched. A letter was clutched in its talons, and Draco pulled it away after only a moment’s hesitation.

He unfolded it and read the beautifully scrawled words in the familiar ink, the parchment shaking in his hands. When he was done, the letter dropped to the floor and Draco sat upon the edge of his bed, head down as the burning embers of the letter curled up upon the floor and reflected in his unseeing eyes.


	7. Survival Instincts

Harry awoke the next morning to find Ron already gone. Seamus, Dean, and Neville nodded at him lethargically, all in various states of undress as they got ready for their day.  He sat on his bed and wondered at how they could be so accepting of him after what happened the day before, but he decided that he didn’t want to press the issue.  So he merely nodded to them in return before getting up to go to the bathroom.  Today, he knew he would have to come out of hiding and face the masses.   
  
He was surprised to find Hermione waiting for them in the common room.  Although, when she realized that Ron wasn’t present she muttered exasperatedly about her boyfriend being impossible.  As they all made their way down to the great hall, Seamus, Dean, and Neville flanked Harry like body guards. This both pleased and embarrassed him as the inevitable whispers and stares broke out in the crowds of students they wove through.    
  
However, the attention only grew worse once he entered the Great Hall, students turning around in their seats and craning their heads to get a better look at him, and he was more than a little frustrated to see that Ron wasn’t at the Gryffindor table either.  He worked to keep any hurt or irritation from showing on his face as he sat down and picked up his fork, determined to eat quickly and get out of there with as much of his dignity intact as he could possibly maintain.    


He was just on his second forkful of eggs when the doors opened again and the murmurs in the hall grew hushed.  Harry whipped his head round and saw Draco making his way stoically to the Slytherin table. The boy completely ignored the cold sneers he was receiving from his housemates as he sat down at his usual seat between Pansy and Blaise.  Pansy openly glared at Draco and scooted away, but Blaise seemed perfectly aloof to the tension, continuing to read his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and biting into a piece of toast.  Harry stared at Draco, relief washing over him, but then he noticed most of the eyes in the Great Hall darting from Draco to him and he turned away, back to his plate.    
  
He could feel Hermione, Seamus, Neville, and Dean watching him, but he didn’t look up and stuffed eggs into his mouth.  Despite the hollow feeling that watching Draco elicited in him, Harry felt good to know that Draco was safe, and dealing with his housemates as best he could.  Draco was always good at hiding his inner turmoil when he wanted to, and this instance was no exception.  
  
Suddenly, Hedwig landed on the table in front of Harry and he noticed more than a few letters attached to her leg.  With a certain sense of dread, Harry fed her a bit of his toast and untied the letters from her talons.    
  
Hermione sent him a concerned look, and with no amount of surprise, Harry noticed that the first letter was from Mrs. Weasley.  He opened it carefully, deciding not to prolong the inevitable by reading it later that night.    
  
He could just imagine how angry Mrs. Weasley was, and he was sure she had written a long letter just to tell him off.  With this gloomy mindset, he unfolded the parchment and read, only to find, to his surprise that the tone of the letter was far from accusatory.  In fact, it was more concerned for his well-being than anything.  She did ask more than once throughout the body of it if the photograph was, in fact, real and if he was, in fact, snogging Draco Malfoy.  Although, each time, she would take pains to reassure him that she wouldn’t hold that against him, even though the nature of his relationship with Draco concerned her.  She ended it by asking if he was planning to visit the Burrow for Christmas.    
  
Feeling greatly relieved and touched, Harry, his hands shaking, unfolded the next letter from Remus. It carried much the same sentiments, and encouraged him to let Remus know if he needed any advice or someone to talk to.    
  
The next letter was oddly from George and Fred Weasley, informing him of just how much of the profit from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes Harry was entitled to for that quarter.  Although there was a postscript at the end in which they fit in a number of light-hearted wise-cracks about his ‘lurid, secret relationship’ with that ‘dastardly, no-good, son-of-a-death-eater Draco Malfoy’.    


The rest of the letters were either anonymous or from people he didn’t know, and he didn’t dare open them, suspecting that more than half could be vitriolic and the rest downright dangerous to open.   
  
After casting Incendio on the lot, Harry found himself feeling a lot better about the situation, and Hermione smiled at him as she read Mrs. Weasley’s letter for herself.         
  
But Harry’s gaze slid toward Draco at the Slytherin table and he sobered.  After all, no matter how supportive some of Harry’s loved ones seemed to be, Draco clearly believed that staying away from Harry was crucial to his survival.  Harry vowed that, despite Draco’s obvious distrust of his abilities, he would protect Draco somehow.  As Harry pondered how he might do it, his gaze flicked up to the head table to find that Dumbledore was speaking lowly to McGonagall and glancing over in Draco’s direction with interest.  Harry frowned and bit his lip, a thought striking him.    
  
Draco would surely never forgive him for it, but at this point, Harry had nothing to lose.  He knew what he had to do.    
  
After an excruciatingly long Transfiguration lesson in which McGonagall sent him vaguely concealed looks of concern while he struggled to transfigure an owl into a parchment and the rest of his classmates stared at him – excluding Ron, who had studiously ignored him the entire lesson – Harry packed up his things, told Hermione not to wait up, and made his way to Dumbledore’s office.   
  
Not knowing the password, he stopped at the gargoyle and ran through a list of sweets, wizarding and muggle, until he reached the correct one, _jelly fingers_ , and stepped onto the lifting spiral staircase.   
  
Once the staircase stopped, Harry enquired into the silence, “Headmaster?”   
  
But he was not prepared for what he saw as the office came into view.  
  
There, in a plush chair opposite Dumbledore at his desk, sat Draco, now staring back at him with slightly wide eyes.   
  
“Draco?” Harry blurted with shock.  
  
“Harry,” Dumbledore broke in, his eyes twinkling and a welcoming smile tugging at his lips.  “What excellent timing. Come, have a seat.”  
  
Dumbledore conjured another plush chair out of thin air just beside Draco’s.  Harry nodded absently, never taking his eyes off of the blond who appeared slightly uncomfortable, until he sat down and sent the Headmaster a questioning look.  
  
“Tea?” Dumbledore offered, apparently oblivious to the tension in the room as another cup materialized on the desk top.  
  
“Erm…” Harry uttered lamely, but Dumbledore was already pouring some tea into the cup from the tip of his wand.  
  
“Thanks,” he murmured when Dumbledore floated the cup into his hands, and he took a sip from it for want of something better to do.  
  
He glanced again at Draco, who was watching him in turn, and his befuddlement grew, but luckily Dumbledore chose that moment to enlighten him.  
  
“Draco has decided to join our cause,” Dumbledore stated, his eyes watching Harry perceptively.  “In exchange for our protection.”  
  
Harry stared at Draco in disbelief.  “You changed your mind?”  
  
“You were right, Potter,” Draco stated, and Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock.

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t make me repeat it.” Draco glared, but any maliciousness in the gesture was softened by a pout, and Harry closed his mouth and grinned.    
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  
  
Draco’s glare turned into a scowl, but he didn’t say anything further.  Harry was relieved by the developments to say the least.     
  
“So you’re staying here then, over the winter hols?” Harry asked hopefully.  
  
Draco looked at him for a long moment, a mass of emotions flitting across his features, before he seemed to close off.  Eventually, he nodded slowly, although he appeared resigned and oddly sad.    


Harry watched him, wondering at Draco’s mood, but then Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts.  
  
“We will do all that we can to ensure your safety, Draco,” Dumbledore stated kindly.  “Even from certain family members.”  
  
Draco seemed to snap out of his melancholic state and nodded to Dumbledore.  “Thank you, Headmaster.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded, and Draco stood up. Harry nodded to Dumbledore as the man inclined his head, before following Draco out the door and down the stairs in silence, his mind still reeling over Draco’s change of heart. It was convenient to say the least, given what he had been prepared to do.

 

When they were outside of Dumbledore’s office in the empty corridor and Draco stopped and turned toward him expectantly, Harry couldn’t keep his suspicions at bay.  
  
“What?” Draco snapped defensively.  
  
Harry shook his head.  “I still don’t know why you’ve changed your mind.”  
  
“I’ve told you,” Draco retorted with a frown, although he couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes.  
  
“Yeah, but that was complete bollocks and you know it,” Harry stated stubbornly, his eyes narrowing as a frown tugged at his lips.  
  
Draco let out a breath, collecting himself, and his gray eyes met his squarely.  “It wasn’t a lie, Potter.  I’ll be safer here now that my father knows.  After all, it’s not as if he will welcome the lover of Harry Potter home with open arms, much less allow me to receive his master’s precious Mark.  And running away is preposterous.  I have nowhere else to go.”  
  
Harry scrutinized him, searching for any trace of deceit, but Draco only stared back at him with that same determined expression.  “And now you trust that we can protect you?”  
  
“I trust that the risk is greater if I don’t let you try,” Draco replied succinctly.  
  
Harry wondered if he should feel insulted, but then he just let out a quick calming breath and nodded.  “All right.”  
  
“And why exactly were you in Dumbledore’s office, Potter?” Draco questioned pointedly, deftly turning the tables around on him.  
  
“Erm…” Harry stammered, and Draco’s eyes narrowed.  Harry realized instantly it would be futile to follow his first instinct and lie.  “I was there for the same reason you were.”  
  
“I could have become very angry with you,” Draco stated, and he actually looked a bit cross.  
  
“I know,” Harry agreed with him softly, and had the grace to feel ashamed for a moment before he realized that was mental. “But I wasn’t going to stand aside and let you get hurt.  Even if you’d hated me for it.”  
  
Draco stared at him intently, his frown slowly dissipating.  There was something searching in his eyes, something vulnerable, but it was only there for a moment. In the end, Harry was unsure if it had really ever been there at all.  
  
“You really wouldn’t have cared if I’d hated you?” Draco finally spoke, his voice light and mocking, and he stepped forward to place a hand on Harry’s chest.  
  
“Well…” Harry began lamely, swallowing at Draco’s shrewd gaze.  “I can’t say I wouldn’t have cared.”  
  
Draco smiled at him, but Harry noticed his gray eyes looked pained, and he wanted to question the boy about it, but he was impeded by Draco’s lips gently pressing against his.  Draco pulled away before Harry could even think to reciprocate, and beckoned him with a look.  
  
“Come on, Potter,” Draco smirked at him, all traces of his previous unhappiness gone.  “I feel like getting some fresh air.”  
  
Harry nodded slowly, realizing that Draco was inviting him to walk side by side in public, and suddenly he felt both anxious and excited at the prospect.  He fell into step beside Draco as the boy started walking away and it wasn’t long before they encountered other students in the halls.  Draco seemed to be perfectly oblivious to their stares, his expression stoic once more, but then his fingers brushed against Harry’s and intertwined with them on the next pass, and Harry couldn’t help jumping in shock.  
  
“Draco?” Harry yelped as a Ravenclaw girl in the hall nearly dropped her books in shock, and some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw boys looked notably disgusted.    
  
Draco just sent him an exasperated look, although he did appear slightly uncomfortable as Harry stared at him.  “They already know, Potter.  Hiding it won’t do us any good.”  
  
“Yeah, but…” Harry tried to think of a suitable retort, but could find none, and it left him feeling strange.    
  
He had been operating for so long under the notion that they could never have a public relationship that he realized he didn’t know how to deal with a situation in which they could be openly intimate with one another.  He’d dreamed about this so many times, but he’d never even been in a real, long-lasting, romantic relationship before, and he found himself worrying about how he would be expected to act.  He also still worried about Draco’s safety.    
  
“But the Slytherins –”  
  
A hand slid up his cheek and he found himself staring, wide-eyed into Draco’s own eyes, their faces now much closer.   
  
“What did I say about talking too much, Potter?” Draco admonished with a smirk, and then his lips touched Harry’s again. Harry stiffened, unable to ignore the gasps the action elicited from passing students in the populated hall.   
  
“Wait, Draco.” Harry pulled away, placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders and looking into his eyes.  “Are you sure about this?”  
  
Draco sent him a dry look.  “Why would I instigate it if I wasn’t?”  
  
Harry allowed himself a small smile, ignoring the nagging doubt in his mind that something still wasn’t quite right, that despite Draco’s sound logic, his change of heart had really been quite sudden.  Harry didn’t want to think about it, not when he could finally get what he wanted after thinking it had slipped out of his grasp for good.  “Right then.  Where were we?”  
  
He gave into what he wanted, pulling Draco against him and re-instigating the kiss.  Draco responded easily, his body relaxed in Harry’s arms, and for the first time, Harry was able to ignore the attention they were getting and simply enjoy what he was doing.  
   
When he eventually pulled back after one final nibble to Draco’s lower lip, Draco’s free hand was entwined in Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck, a smirk on his slightly kiss-swollen lips.  
   
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Harry admitted, no longer concerned with their onlookers.  
  
“What?” Draco questioned incredulously.  “Kiss me?  Impatient, aren’t we, Potter? It hasn’t been that long since the last time.”  
  
“No,” Harry shook his head and absently turned to kiss Draco’s naked wrist where the robe sleeve had ridden up as it rested on his shoulder.  Draco’s breath hitched.  “I meant, kissing you outside of the tower, in public.”  
  
Draco just stared at him, obviously fighting to keep his expression neutral, but his cheeks grew conspicuously pink as his lips tightened.    
  
Harry smiled.  Draco had become entirely too easy to fluster.   
  
“Oi, look what we have here!”  
  
Harry pulled away and turned to see a grinning Seamus making his way down the hall toward them through the crowd.  Draco’s hand tightened in his and Harry scowled with embarrassment.    
  
“Ron hasn’t seen you two yet, has he?” Seamus questioned, making a show of anxiously looking around.  
  
“Shut it, Seamus,” Dean laughed, popping up at his side as the gawking, mostly lower-year students parted for them.  “Can’t you see Harry’s been tortured enough?”  
  
“Yeah. Although, I’m sure the type of torture he’s endured has been more than tolerable.” Seamus grinned lewdly, and then he nodded to Draco amicably.  “Malfoy.”  
  
After only a moment’s hesitation, Draco nodded back stiffly.  “Finnigan.”  His eyes then slid toward Dean, and he nodded again.  “Thomas.”  
  
“Wow, Malfoy,” Seamus exclaimed with that same shite-eating grin.  “Who knew getting properly shagged could make you a decent bloke.”  
  
Harry tensed, feeling his face heat, as Draco stiffened and glowered.  “Who knew buggering a Mu--” Draco broke off in frustration, clearly biting his tongue against the slur he’d wanted to use.  “Thomas would make you lose what little survival instincts you had left!”  
  
Harry hastily pushed Draco’s wand down, before he could make good on his threat and hex Seamus to oblivion.  Seamus just laughed, although Dean looked more than a little uncomfortable as Draco’s glare switched over to Harry.  Harry raised his eyebrows and frowned sternly, and after a long moment of staring at Draco’s glare head-on, the Slytherin’s expression transformed into an exasperated pout.   
  
“Sodding Gryffindors,” Draco muttered moodily under his breath, but Harry caught it. Harry couldn’t help but smile.  He really was fond of that pout.    
  
“Young love,” Seamus breathed out melodramatically, and Dean actually slapped him upside the head.   
  
“Thanks,” Harry smiled at Dean gratefully.  “You’ve saved me the trouble.”  
  
“That’s what I’m here for,” Dean grinned as Seamus rubbed the sore spot on his head and frowned, although the sandy-haired boy’s eyes conspicuously twinkled with mirth.    
  
“Come on, Potter.  It’s getting crowded in here,” Draco muttered abruptly and tugged on Harry’s hand.  
  
Harry noticed Draco looking back over his shoulder meaningfully and turned to look as well.  A group of Slytherins were entering the corridor.  Harry grimaced and nodded.    
  
“Right,” Harry stated to Seamus and Dean as Draco tugged more persistently.  “We’re off.”  
  
“Have fun you two!” Seamus grinned lewdly and waved.    
  
Dean waved and cuffed Seamus upside the head again.  
   
Harry followed Draco as the boy broke through the crowd of onlookers they’d accrued, just escaping the Slytherins who thankfully hadn’t noticed them as they escaped.  They wound their way through a series of corridors and moving staircases, before they made it to the front doors of the castle.  Draco unceremoniously pushed one of the heavy doors and pulled Harry along with him out onto the chill, snow-covered grounds.    
  
“Where are we going?” Harry asked as they trudged through thick snow.  Luckily it was completely sunny outside, not a cloud in the sky, but the bottom of Harry’s trousers were getting thoroughly wet.  
  
“Away,” Draco replied shortly.    
  
“How far away?” Harry asked, pointedly looking around as they got farther and farther from the castle.  
  
“I don’t care,” Draco stated ambiguously.  
  
When Harry realized Draco had no idea where they were going, he stopped and pulled Draco back, making him stumble. Draco sent him a startled glare.    
  
“What?” Draco snapped irritably, tugging at his hand to no avail as Harry stared at him.  
  
“Are you running away?”  
  
“What are you on about, Potter?” Draco questioned, although he looked away.  “What would I be running from?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry pretended to think.  “Your housemates.”  
  
Draco gave him a flat look.  “I have no reason to run from those pillocks.”  
  
“Then why are we out here?” Harry asked incredulously, gesturing with his free arm to indicate the vast expanse of white snow they were currently standing knee-deep in.    
  
“I wanted some fresh air,” Draco replied succinctly.    
  
“Draco –”  
  
“What?” Draco snapped irritably.  
  
Harry just had a thought and smiled, before falling back into the snow and pulling Draco down with him.  
  
Draco let out a startled yelp and fell just beside Harry, spluttering until he managed to right himself into a sitting position.  Harry chuckled when Draco glared down at him, his blond locks wet and sticking out in various directions.  Harry sat up and brushed his free hand through Draco’s wet hair, taming it.  Draco’s glare intensified.      
  
“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” Draco scowled as Harry grinned.  
  
“Only around you, apparently,” Harry replied, still grinning.  
  
Draco’s eyes widened marginally, his skin paling, but the look was gone as quickly as it had come.  He huffed and drew his knees up to his chest, somberly looking away from Harry out toward the direction of the lake as the sun began its downward descent behind the mountains.    
Concerned, Harry scooted over so that their hips and shoulders touched and he gazed at Draco’s profile.  “Are you really okay with this?”  
  
“With what?” Draco asked, not even glancing in his direction.  
  
“With us being public,” Harry clarified, and he suddenly couldn’t help feeling a stab of fear that Draco would admit he wasn’t.  That it had all been a mistake to even think of staying at the school instead of going on the run or worse, going home to his father.  
  
“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it,” Draco stated bitterly.  “Everyone already knows.”  
  
“It matters to me,” Harry murmured and he rubbed his thumb along Draco’s as he clutched the others’ hand in his.    
  
Draco sighed, still not looking in Harry’s direction.  “I’m fine with it.”  
  
“That’s all?” Harry asked. Draco remained silent, and Harry let out a frustrated breath.  He knew that Draco would have a hard time with a public relationship, even if the boy tried to hide it, and he knew that the Slytherin was the worst at letting people in on how he was feeling, even Harry.  He had known all of this when he’d fallen in love with him, but it still didn’t stop Draco’s intermittent apathy from irritating and frustrating him.  If he hadn’t been sure that Draco loved him too, he would have been truly afraid a relationship between them wouldn’t last. Harry took a breath in and gathered his infamous Gryffindor courage.  
  
“I love you, you know?” Harry stated into the overwhelming silence of the snowy grounds, bluntly bearing his heart in a way he never had before. Draco stiffened and there was a long silence before he nodded.

 

“And you love me too,” Harry added, trying not to make it sound like a question.  
  
Draco didn’t say anything.  
  
Harry frowned and nuzzled Draco’s ear with his cold nose.  He wanted him to admit it; wanted to hear the words from Draco.  He wanted Draco to stop running, and he would do anything to make that happen.

 

“If you admit it,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear, and he licked his lips, gathering his courage.  “You can fuck me.”  
  
Draco jumped a bit and Harry pulled back as Draco turned his head, his intense gaze locking on him.   
  
“That is…if you want to,” Harry stammered self-consciously, suddenly wondering if he’d gone too far.    
  
They’d never exactly talked about it.  The previous two times they had taken it that far physically, they’d just fallen into place with Harry as the dominant partner.  But each time, Harry had wondered afterward if Draco hadn’t ever wanted it the other way around, and if he was honest with himself, Harry thought he might like to feel Draco moving inside of him.    
  
Draco continued to stare at him, and Harry seriously began to think offering that kind of thing had been a huge mistake, but then Draco moved forward, gripping Harry’s shoulders, and he had to open his mouth quickly to accommodate Draco’s roving tongue.  The hands that rested on Harry’s shoulders began to journey south, but before Harry could get lost in the feeling of Draco’s touch he pushed the boy away, their lips disconnecting with a soft pop.  
  
“Say it,” Harry ordered, sounding a bit more breathy than he would have liked.  
  
Draco sent him a pained look, as if admitting his feelings would be one of the most excruciating ordeals, but Harry just stared at him stubbornly.  
  
“Fine,” Draco spat, his face flushed, and then he let out a breath, and murmured, “Iloveyou.”  
  
“What’s that?” Harry pressed, a grin tugging at his lips.  “I didn’t quite hear you.”  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed.  “You heard me just fine, Potter.”  
  
“Draco.”  
  
“Fine.  I love you! I love you, Harry Potter! Are you happy!?!” Draco exclaimed, scowling for all he was worth.    
  
“You’re quite keen on getting into my trousers, aren’t you?” Harry quipped with a smirk, and Draco reared his hand back in preparation to hit him, but Harry moved forward and captured Draco’s lips with his before he could gain any sort of momentum. Draco stiffened initially but then he lowered his hand, putting it to better uses.

 

After a bit of snogging and heavy petting, Harry was physically aching for more, and he could feel that Draco was in a very similar state, but they both agreed that they weren’t in quite the right setting to go any further.  After pondering about where they could actually go that was private enough but also comfortable, Harry hastily suggested the Quidditch locker room.  At the proposition, Draco sent him a leer that made Harry’s stomach drop and his heart ride up into his throat.  It was at that moment that the enormity of what he was about to do, about to let Draco do to him, finally hit him and the nerves set in.  

His anxiety tripled the moment he stepped across the threshold into the empty Quidditch locker room, but then Draco began to strip out of his winter clothing and Harry got distracted. He had just gotten a peek of the smooth, pale skin of Draco’s lean back, before the boy turned around and smirked.

“Like what you see, Potter?”

Harry could only nod dumbly as the boy stepped closer, and he raised a hand to slide his fingers down Draco’s naked chest as if he had never touched it before. Draco shivered appreciatively as Harry’s fingers went lower, but before Harry could get to Draco’s trousers, the boy stepped away.

Harry made to step forward, but Draco stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Strip, Potter.”

“Bossy, aren’t we?” Harry muttered, but Draco just glared at him.

Harry sighed and did as he was told, but he made it slow, pulling at every button of his shirt as if he had never unbuttoned a shirt before. He could see Draco watching him and becoming more agitated by the pace, and Harry smirked, undoing the last two buttons slower than the first, before he finally let his cloak and shirt drop to the floor.

Harry could never get used to the way Draco’s eyes seemed to devour him when he was bare-chested. He’d spent plenty of time in front of mirrors looking at himself while getting dressed in the morning and he’d never thought he looked especially remarkable. In fact, he thought he looked rather scrawny and pale. But when Draco looked at him like he was doing now, Harry felt as though he was the most desired man in the wizarding world.  

“Don’t stop,” Draco commanded, and Harry was just about to make another stubborn remark when Draco’s deft fingers undid his own fly and pulled out his quickly hardening cock.

Harry stared, immobile, as Draco began to pump himself.

Draco’s growl pulled him from his stupor. “Don’t stop, Potter.”

At the realization that Draco was going to pleasure himself to the sight of Harry getting naked, Harry bit his lip against an appreciative groan before he shakily worked at unbuttoning his trousers. He tried to make it seductive, but he really had no idea how to do that and he feared that he looked horribly awkward instead. Draco, however, was panting and watching Harry slide his trousers down to the floor as if it was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.      

Harry shuddered involuntarily when his boxers caught on his erection, making it bob, but he slid them down to the floor to join his other clothes, leaving him completely naked. Draco stopped fisting his own cock abruptly and lustfully stared at him from his head to his toes and back.

“What are you waiting for?” Harry asked, shivering a bit from not just the chill in the room.

Then Draco crashed into him, sending his back colliding with a wooden cabinet behind him, and Draco’s warm hands ran all over his naked flesh as his mouth attacked his throat and jaw. Harry moaned and grunted, his cold skin suddenly on fire from Draco’s touch, and Draco answered it with a thrust of his hips, rubbing both of their erections together.

“Draco… _more_ …” Harry hissed and grabbed Draco’s arse to pull him closer.

Draco sucked hard enough on Harry’s neck to bruise as their cocks met again. Their lips found each other’s, and it felt as if Draco was branding him somehow, consuming him with heat. Harry suddenly felt legless with the onslaught and Draco supported him with a knee between his thighs that provided a pleasurable friction against his balls as he thrust forward involuntarily.  

“Shower,” Draco gasped against Harry’s lips, and that was the only warning Harry got before Draco pulled away and grasped his hand.

Harry stumbled a bit, the cold air once again biting his skin, but his eyes focused on Draco who was stepping out of his trousers and briefs hastily as he moved. Under a haze of lust, Harry moved forward and placed his hand against the pale round globe of Draco’s exposed arse and the boy stiffened. Harry moved his thumb along the crack experimentally and Draco moaned against his will, sending a jolt of desire straight to Harry’s cock.

Harry tugged at Malfoy’s hand and the boy stumbled back against him, seating Harry’s erection comfortably between Draco’s perfectly nude arse-cheeks.

“ _Fuck_ …Draco…” Harry gasped and he rolled his hips against the heated flesh as he snaked his arms around Draco’s front and pulled him back against his chest.

“Potter…!” Malfoy gasped with surprise, although his voice was hoarse and breathy.

“Call me Harry,” Harry admonished hoarsely, before he kissed the juncture between Draco’s neck and shoulder.

Harry gripped the base of Draco’s cock with one hand and Draco shuddered, involuntarily thrusting forward. “Potter…stop.”

“Why?” Harry asked, and he moved his hand to slide along Draco’s slick length. He knew that Draco wanted to be in control, and Harry would let him eventually, but right now he wanted Draco to come into his hand.

“Because it’s my turn,” Draco retorted with slightly more strength, and then he grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled the hand off of his cock, before turning around in Harry’s arms and grabbing Harry’s length with his own fist.

Harry hissed and nearly fell over, but Draco’s arm snaked around him and held him up.   Harry growled, but Draco replied with a smirk.

“I’m in control, Potter,” Draco whispered against Harry’s lips. “Don’t forget it.”

Harry knew he should feel angry and defiant, but all he felt was lust coursing through his veins at Draco’s superior smirk. He allowed Draco to pull him into one of the showers and push him against the wall so that all he could see was tile. Draco twisted the tap and blissfully hot water fell all over Harry’s cold skin, making it tingle and loosening the muscles underneath. Soon, Draco’s hands caressed his shoulders and a mouth kissed his neck and shoulder blades. Harry sighed at the touch, but he felt needier than ever. After long minutes of this torture in which Draco’s hands slid along his back, his sides, and his hips as Draco’s tongue traced patterns on his shoulders, Harry wanted to turn around and force Draco to finally give him release, but one of Draco’s hands finally slipped between his arse-cheeks and Harry froze.

“You ready, Potter?” Draco murmured into his ear passed the pounding water.

And Harry nodded, trying not to feel nervous as Draco’s fingers found his entrance and pushed forward.        

It felt uncomfortable at first, the fingers intruding on virgin territory, but it wasn’t long before Draco moved his fingers to just the right spot, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Harry’s groin.  Harry arched back with a surprised gasp, squirming and searching for more of that touch.

He tensed, however, when Draco pulled his fingers out, sliding his cock along the crevice of his backside instead.  Draco’s breathing became heavy against his neck and shoulder, pushing himself against Harry with slow, steady thrusts. One of his hands moved up to cover Harry’s on the tile wall, entwining their fingers.    
  
Draco squeezed his hand, before he shifted and the head of his cock pushed at the tight ring of muscles at his opening.  Harry gasped with the discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut, and Draco blessedly stopped to let him adjust.

“Relax, Harry,” Draco murmured a bit breathlessly, and he placed soft kisses upon his shoulders and neck.  

Harry nodded reluctantly and took some deep, steadying breaths, Draco’s use of his given name calming him somehow. Irrationally, he wondered if Draco would actually be able to fit inside him at all without ripping him in two, but he tried not to dwell on it.   
Eventually, Harry’s muscles relaxed just enough that the width of Draco’s erection didn’t feel like such an intrusion. 

Harry bit his lip resolutely. “Go deeper.”  

Draco did, but he did so slowly, and Harry’s fingers curled and found purchase in the grout between the tiles as he exhaled.  

“You’re so tight,” Draco muttered hoarsely, as if he was surprised by this. “So hot. I almost can’t…”

Draco’s voice trailed off into a groan and this turned Harry on so much that it was certainly easier to ignore any discomfort.    
  
Then Draco was in as deep as he could go and Harry shuddered at the strange yet heady feeling of being filled so completely.  He started to gain a new sense of confidence that he could take whatever Draco had to give him.  But then Draco pulled out without warning and slammed back in.  
  
Harry yelped at the unexpected pain and arched, but Draco kissed him hurriedly on the shoulders and neck, and did it again, this time at a different angle.  This time, fortunately, a very positive feeling shot through Harry’s body and he involuntarily thrust back against Draco in search of more.  

“ _Fuck_ , Harry,” Draco cursed and moaned appreciatively.

He bit Harry’s shoulder as he repeated the motion, but faster.

“Merlin, _yes_ …right there… _fuck_ …” Harry panted blearily as they moved together.  
  
Draco grunted and gasped shallowly against the sweaty skin of Harry’s neck. Then his hand found the base of Harry’s cock, squeezing it tightly and sliding upwards slickly with delicious pressure, and Harry was lost.  The pleasure tied a knot at his core and built up with such an intense pulsating heat that he shuddered and let the wave overtake him, groaning Draco’s name.   
  
Draco only lasted a few more moments after that, his hand stilling on Harry’s softening cock as he cursed and pumped into Harry one last time, stiffening and shuddering behind him.  

Both of them slid down to the ground of the shower stall. Harry worked to catch his breath, the sweat cooling on his skin, before he turned around to kiss Draco on the lips.  But their lips only touched for a moment, before Harry tasted wet salt and pulled back, seeing tears stream down Draco’s cheeks.  
  
“Draco,” Harry murmured with slight dismay, wiping at one tear track with his thumb.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Draco jerked away, appearing surprised himself, before he rubbed his eyes roughly with his fists.    
  
“You’re crying,” Harry stated the obvious, challenging Draco to disagree.    
  
Draco looked at him, his eyes conspicuously red.  “It’s nothing.”  
  
“It’s not nothing,” Harry pressed, rubbing a thumb across Draco’s wet cheek to prove his point.  He’d never seen Draco cry before and he knew he wasn’t the type to do it often.  Something was wrong.   
  
“Just forget it, Potter,” Draco retorted, his tone surly, and he looked away uncomfortably. 

Harry watched him, wanting to press it, but knowing that it would do him little good.  He knew as well as anyone how stubborn Draco could get when interrogated.  Harry vowed to follow up on it later, if Draco didn’t appear better.  
  
“It’s Harry,” Harry stated softly instead, leaning forward to place a kiss on Draco’s throat.  “I think we know each other well enough to be on a first name basis.”    
  
“Harry,” Draco conceded reluctantly, obviously relieved that Harry had changed the subject, as Harry worked his way up with his lips from Draco’s neck to his jaw.  Draco’s fingers squeezed Harry’s bare hips where his hands rested.  
  
“I liked it,” Harry murmured, his voice a bit muffled against Draco’s skin.  “But I think I still prefer being inside of you.”  
  
Draco’s fingers squeezed Harry’s hips a bit tighter as the boy tensed, but then he pushed out a quick breath.  “I think I prefer that too.  Being on top is entirely too much work.”  
  
Harry grinned against the shell of Draco’s ear before he bit it.  Draco’s breath hitched.  “You must be incredibly lazy if you’re willing to admit that.”  
  
“Shut it, Potter,” Draco snapped lamely, his voice hoarse as Harry continued to nip at his earlobe.  “You would do right to remember that it doesn’t matter whether I’m on top or bottom, I’m still the one in charge.”  
  
“Right,” Harry chuckled amenably, thinking it better to allow the boy to believe whatever he wanted, before he took Draco’s lips with his and spoke between kisses.  “As always, Master Draco, I am at your service.”  
  
Draco shuddered and then lightly cuffed Harry upside the head, but Harry just grinned.  He had no idea that Draco had such a kink for dominating, but he couldn’t say it surprised him in the least.  The Slytherin liked to be in control of all aspects of his life, and Harry was eager to oblige if that meant he could shag him into the ground.           
  
They took a shower together after that, idly touching and kissing the plains of each other’s bodies, until they were finally dressed in their slightly damp clothes again. Draco used a drying charm on the both of them and Harry was relieved to feel his boxers stop sticking uncomfortably to his inner thighs.   
  
When they finally made it back to the castle it was dinner time and they separated at the doors to the Great Hall.  Harry walked stoically to the Gryffindor table amidst heightened murmurs and stares from the students around him as Draco made his way to the Slytherin table.  Once Harry sat down, Neville and Dean nodded to him politely, while Seamus greeted him cheerily and gave him a lurid wink. However, Harry’s attention zeroed in on Ron who was sat beside Hermione and avoiding his gaze.  Harry glanced at Hermione and she shook her head before sending Ron her favorite exasperated look.  Ron just stuffed his face, determinedly ignoring Harry.  
  
Harry frowned, the small hope that Ron would at least speak to him dying entirely, and he stabbed his potatoes with his fork until they were properly mashed.  He barely even heard Seamus as he regaled them all with a rumor about some unfortunate second-year Hufflepuff who had accidentally fallen off the end of a moving staircase that morning.   
  
Harry was only pulled out of his mood-induced fog when Dumbledore abruptly stood up at the staff table and called for everyone’s attention.  The students in the hall dutifully fell silent as their questioning eyes turned his way.    
  
Dumbledore surveyed them all, his blue eyes twinkling with characteristic good humor as he smiled.  “I apologize for intruding on your meals, but I have an announcement to make.” He paused and some students leaned over in their seats to whisper to each other.  Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice.  “Given that the war with Voldemort draws closer, the world beyond Hogwarts has grown considerably dangerous for many students and their families.  Only yesterday, I was made aware of the fact that many of you have decided to stay within the castle walls over the winter holidays for this very reason.  In fact, there will be so many of you gracing our halls during this period that I thought it best to prepare something special to occupy you.”  
  
The Great Hall went absolutely silent in anticipation as he paused for effect and surveyed the student body at large, smiling serenely.  “Hogwarts will be holding another Yule Ball, and all of you who will be staying on are welcome to attend. Music and entertainment will be announced at a later date.  Thank you.”  
  
When Dumbledore sat back down, the Great Hall broke out into a cacophony of excited chatter, mostly from the girls, and pained groans, mostly from the boys.  Harry didn’t know how to feel.  On the one hand, his last Yule Ball experience had been downright painful and awkward, but this time at least, he wasn’t expected to dance in front of everyone as a Hogwarts champion.  
  
Harry started when Seamus slapped a hand on his back and asked, “So, are you going to ask Malfoy to the Ball then, Harry?”  
  
Harry caught Ron tensing in his seat, but he ignored it, even as he tried unsuccessfully to keep his face from flushing.  Hermione watched him quizzically, perhaps not having heard that he and Draco had made up hours before.  “I suppose so.”  
  
“There’s a good lad.”  Seamus grinned.  “I’m sure with your display together in the halls earlier, he’ll say yes.”  
  
Ron looked to be becoming quite ill and he scowled with a glare at his plate.  Harry frowned in irritation, but Ron said nothing, still refusing to meet his gaze.    
  
“You and Malfoy have patched things up then?” Hermione asked.  Clearly, this was news to her, and Harry nodded.  
  
“How is he?” she pressed, and Ron actually switched an affronted glare toward her, but she ignored it.  
  
“From the looks of it, he’s quite fit,” Seamus observed with a leer.  Dean cuffed him across the head, but he barely flinched, apparently having expected it.    
  
Harry couldn’t help glaring at Seamus with a sudden rush of possessiveness, but he tamped it down when Seamus saw it and sent him a good-natured smile.  

“He’s all right,” Harry finally murmured, uncomfortable as he felt eyes on him from curious students all up and down the table.  “He’s staying over the winter hols.”  
  
“Oh, that’s good,” Hermione replied, although the warmth in her tone seemed a bit forced.  Harry realized that even though she had actively encouraged him to fix his relationship with Draco, that didn’t exactly mean she had come to approve of Draco as a person. He could see it was difficult for her to deal with as her own boyfriend still had such a keen problem with Draco as well.  “So, are you two a proper couple now?”  
  
“Erm,” Harry spluttered, his face heating much against his will as conversations all along the Gryffindor table went silent.  Out of habit, Harry automatically looked to Ron for help, but Ron was not going to come to the rescue this time.  Ron was stiff as a board and scowling, although now, his eyes were squarely on Harry.  If Harry looked close enough, he would see that Ron looked a little bereft beneath the glare, but as it was, Harry couldn’t hold eye contact for long and he missed it entirely.  He finally looked back at Hermione, as everyone else watched him, and nodded.  “I suppose so.”  
  
Seamus smiled amidst the whispers that broke out all along the table and clapped Harry on the back in congratulations. Hermione sent him a small smile, but Ron stood up abruptly and dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clang.    
  
“Ron!” Hermione started with alarm, but Ron turned to scowl at her.  
  
“I’m going to bed.”  
  
Hermione stared at him, looking frustrated, and her eyes flickered toward Harry before she let out a helpless sigh.  “Fine.”  
  
Ron stalked out of the room as they all watched, scowling and muttering under his breath.  Harry stared after him, his earlier annoyance and hurt with his best mate doubling.  He’d always known that Ron would react negatively if he ever found out, but he hadn’t expected him to be so quiet about it.  He’d expected Ron to get angry and maybe instigate a good row, but this silent treatment was beyond unnerving, and Harry wished it would stop.  At the heart of it, he was sad that he seemed to be losing his best friend, and he didn’t know how to get him back.    
  
He said as much to Hermione the next day in the common room after a Divination lesson in which Ron studiously ignored him the entire time, except for a moment in which Trelawney predicted Harry would have great luck in love before suffering a truly horrible betrayal.  At that point, Ron had glanced over at him with sincere alarm, but when Harry had looked back, Ron had seemed to realize what he was doing and he’d scowled before looking away.  Hermione only sighed and wrote the last rune equation on her parchment before setting down her quill and looking up at him.  
  
“I don’t think Ron’s cross with you about Malfoy,” Hermione stated carefully.  “This is different.  I think he’s really hurt.”  
  
“Why would he be hurt?” Harry questioned. “And why wouldn’t he be cross about Malfoy?  He hates him, and he’s angry with me because I _don’t_.”  
  
“I _do_ think that’s part of it,” Hermione agreed thoughtfully, but her eyes looked a bit sad and Harry suddenly wondered with no small amount of guilt how this whole episode between him and Ron had affected her relationship with Ron.  He felt terrible for not having thought of it sooner.  After all, he hadn’t seen them out together as often, and most of the time, Ron was in his four-poster with the curtains drawn by the time Harry entered the dorm room at night.  “But I think he’s more hurt by the fact that you didn’t tell him about it, and that I knew before he did.”  
  
Harry bit his lip and frowned, his guilt for Hermione’s sake only increasing.  “But that’s stupid.  I didn’t tell him because I knew he’d react badly, and I’d been keeping the entire relationship a secret from everyone anyway.  I hadn’t even told you.  You’d figured it out on your own.”  
  
“I know, Harry,” Hermione soothed.  “But Ron still feels terrible that he was one of the last to find out, and perhaps he thought that you would have told him once you knew that I knew, because we are all equal in our friendship.  He also probably expected that I would confide in him once I’d found out because of our relationship.  He feels betrayed, by both of us.”  
  
Harry watched the pained expression that flit across Hermione’s face and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.  “It’s not your fault.  I didn’t want you to tell him, and you didn’t betray my trust.  If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”  
  
Hermione sighed and shook her head.  “I don’t think anyone’s to blame.  It was understandable what you did.  You were trying to protect your friendship with Ron as long as you could, and for most of the time your relationship with Malfoy was tenuous at best.  You have only just made it official, right?”  
  
Harry nodded slowly, still feeling quite bad about it all, and angry with Ron for being so difficult.  
  
“I know it was right for me not to confide in him what I knew,” Hermione said softly.  “But I understand why he feels hurt by it now.  Ron has always been self-conscious, given his upbringing, and it has taken a long time to feel as though he wasn’t standing in your shadow.”

Harry grimaced at the reminder and Hermione placed a hand on the one he had placed on her shoulder, caressing his fingers a bit.    
  
“That’s not your fault either, but we both know how Ron was,” Hermione continued.  “Even now, I think it’s hard for him to feel that we value him as a true friend if we can’t even confide in him.”  
  
Harry let out a breath and sat back in his chair across from her, pulling his hand away.  “Should I apologize?”

“I think you should explain to him your fears about losing him,” Hermione replied honestly, the fire reflecting in her eyes, and she turned her head and stared unseeingly at the grate.  “You need to reassure him that you are his friend, and that you’ve always valued his friendship.”  
  
“But I don’t think he’ll ever accept my relationship with Draco,” Harry stated softly as he watched a couple of first year girls enter the common room through the portrait hole.  “He might continue hating me just for that.”  
  
“I don’t think he hates you,” Hermione said.  “And I’m not sure that he’ll ever accept Malfoy, but if he knows that you value his friendship, he may be able to tolerate your relationship with him without becoming jealous of the time you two spend together.”  
  
Harry didn’t say anything more, deep in thought.  
  
“If I may ask, Harry,” Hermione finally spoke into the silence. Harry nodded as she waited expectantly for his approval. “I was just wondering how this relationship between you and Malfoy came about. That was one thing I could never quite figure out and you’d never told me.”  
  
Harry suddenly felt awkward, but he didn’t see any direct harm in telling her now that it was all out in the open.  He smiled a bit as a thought occurred to him.  “It was actually a bit because of you.”  
  
“Me?” Hermione asked, predictably dumbstruck, her eyes widening slightly.  
  
Harry nodded.  “When you insisted that I start the DA again and you made me check out the Room of Requirement.  I went that night and found the tower.”  
  
“The tower?” Hermione repeated quizzically.  
  
“Yeah, the Room of Requirement,” Harry replied.  “It turned into a tower.  It looked just like the Astronomy tower really, and Draco was there.”  
  
“Draco was in the Room of Requirement?” Hermione questioned with disbelief.  “But how could the Room of Requirement let you in while he was still in it, unless –”  
  
“Unless we required the same thing,” Harry finished for her. “I know. We both wondered about it too, but Draco said he hadn’t wished for the same thing I had.”  
  
“What did he wish for?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry replied thoughtfully, just remembering.  “He never told me.”  
  
“What did you wish for?” Hermione questioned, looking truly intrigued now.  
  
“Something for Defense,” Harry answered.  “I was doing it for the DA, after all.”  
  
“Odd,” Hermione stated, and she looked a bit unnerved.    
  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed lamely.    
  
“So the Room could have been malfunctioning,” Hermione said thoughtfully.  
  
“Maybe,” Harry agreed, but then his thoughts turned darker.  “It would explain not only that, but how someone else got in to take that photograph.”  
  
“But,” Hermione paused seeming to remember.  “I’d asked you to start the DA right between those quidditch matches, and you and Malfoy appeared to hate each other then more than ever.”  
  
“The first meeting in the tower wasn’t exactly our best,” Harry replied, frowning at the memory.  
  
“His black eye,” Hermione stated, suddenly understanding.  “It all fits.”  
  
“It wasn’t my proudest moment,” Harry admitted sheepishly.   
  
“I’m sure he’d deserved it.”  Hermione smiled.    
  
“Yeah, well…” Harry pushed a hand through his hair.  “After that he saved my life on the pitch.”  
  
“Hm,” Hermione murmured.  “Yes, I remember.  So that was deliberate, then?”

“He’d insisted it was an accident,” Harry replied and rolled his eyes.  “But I didn’t believe him.  Still don’t.”  
  
Hermione looked unsure though, but she didn’t press it.  “And you met him again in the tower.”  
  
“The next night,” Harry agreed.  “He wasn’t pleased.”  
  
“But he didn’t force you out,” Hermione stated knowingly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “How romantic.”  
  
Harry stared at her in disbelief, but then he just chuckled as he noticed her teasing smile. “Hardly.  For months, it was just talking, getting to know each other.”  
  
“When did it change?” Hermione asked curiously.  
  
“Erm...” Harry’s cheeks flushed a bit, wondering how much he should reveal, and deciding that he wouldn’t talk to her about Draco’s connection with Voldemort or his previous plans to get the Mark.  “I realized that I fancied him and then I kissed him one night.”  
  
“And he kissed you back?” Hermione asked, absolutely enraptured in a way that Harry hadn’t expected.  
  
Harry nodded, his cheeks hot.  
  
“So,” Hermione’s eyes narrowed and her mouth turned up in a mischievous grin.  “How far have you two gone?”   
  
“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed in shock.  He hadn’t known Hermione would actually care about things like that, especially between him and Draco.  It was absolutely disturbing to realize that she could be so lewd, and he really didn’t want to think about that discovery when she was currently in a relationship with his best mate.  
  
“All right,” Hermione said, waving the thought away with a small laugh.  “You don’t have to tell me.  I wasn’t expecting you to anyway.”  
  
“Good.”  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  “Because I wasn’t going to tell you.  Ever.”

“Hm,” Hermione hummed and she actually looked disappointed.  “Too bad.”  
  
Harry frowned uneasily, realizing that after so many years of being Hermione’s friend, there were still moments at which it seemed he barely knew her at all.  
  
“I still wonder what Malfoy required from the Room,” Hermione murmured thoughtfully, the teasing light in her eyes gone.  “It might explain how the Room of Requirement could be malfunctioning.  He’s never told you?”  
  
Harry shook his head, wondering about that himself for the first time in ages.   
  
“Hm…” Hermione shook her head and stared into the fire, Harry following her lead as he let his thoughts wander.  Then he felt her staring at him and he looked at her questioningly.    
  
She appeared sober and concerned.  “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Harry.  I know you love him, but I still have trouble trusting him, and I don’t think that will change until this war is over for good.”  
  
Harry nodded.  “I know.  Just trust me, if you can’t trust him.  That’s all I ask.”  
  
“I’ll try,” Hermione replied softly, and Harry reached over to place a hand on her shoulder once again.  
  
“Thank you, Hermione.”

“What are friends for?” Hermione responded with a small smile.  “Although, be careful, Harry.  I don’t like this business with the photograph and all the visions you’ve been having.  Voldemort is up to something and I’m convinced it involves spies at Hogwarts.”  
  
Harry nodded, he had been thinking the same things, especially with the type of danger Draco suspected he was in.  “I know.”  
  
Eventually, Hermione went back to writing out her homework for Arithmancy, and Harry gazed into the fire, his thoughts turned from Voldemort to Ron, and what, if anything, he could do to make things right between them.   
  
Right after dinner that evening, Harry bumped into Draco in a populated hall and the Slytherin boldly pulled him in for a kiss, which Harry readily received.  When they finally parted, Harry thought he saw a flash of familiar red hair out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked properly the owner was gone, and Harry did his best to ignore the glares that burned into his back or the offhand remarks that echoed around him after he and Draco went their separate ways.

That night, Harry entered his dorm room to find Ron’s curtains drawn and the other beds still empty.  
  
In the green-lit dungeons, Draco found the eagle owl perched on his desk once again, a package clutched in its talons.  It was a long time before he finally moved across the room and relieved it of its burden.  He sat on his bed and un-wrapped the parcel with shaking fingers.  A small felt box tumbled out onto his mattress and he read the attached note.  After a short moment, he scowled and jerkily threw the note onto the ground, watching it burn to blackened ash.


	8. The Package

The next day in Care of Magical Creatures, Hermione convinced Hagrid before the lesson to partner Harry and Ron together.  Harry was simultaneously grateful for the opportunity but concerned for Draco who was paired with Crabbe during a lesson that involved caring for Mackled Malaclaws, lobster-like creatures whose bite could cause severe unluckiness.  
  
Hagrid had gotten Professor Flitwick to charm the snow over the field in front of his hut to melt so that they could all sit down on the grass.  Ron, however, did not look pleased with the arrangements and he did all he could to ignore Harry as they attempted to feed their Malaclaw small crustaceans without getting bitten.  As the Malaclaw settled down to eat, Harry glanced up at Ron and made a go of it.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ron,” Harry began uncomfortably. “I don’t want this to go on.”   
Ron stiffened, but he still didn’t look in Harry’s direction as he pushed more crustaceans at their Malaclaw.    
  
“I know you’re angry with me,” Harry continued tentatively.  “But you’re my best mate, and we’ve been through a lot together.”

Harry already felt stupid. He’d never been good at apologies or talking about feelings, especially with Ron. They’d always bonded over a sort of wordless comradery and any time they hit a rough patch, Hermione had knocked some sense into them both. Harry wished Hermione could do that now.    
  
Harry watched Ron closely for any reaction.  Ron still wasn’t looking at him, his brows furrowed, but it was obvious he had been listening intently.  He still looked angry though, and Harry sighed in frustration, deciding that talking might be a lost cause, but then Ron spoke.  
  
“Why?”  Suddenly, Ron’s eyes were turned toward him and he looked miserable.  
  
“Why, what?”  Harry asked, getting ready for the barrage of questions about his and Draco’s relationship.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
Harry stared at him and realized that Hermione had been right.  Ron was more concerned with his inability to confide in him than his relationship with Draco, and it made Harry feel twice as ashamed.    
  
“I was afraid that you would stop being my friend if you knew,” Harry replied honestly, and he picked up another crustacean from their bucket and tossed it at the Malaclaw as it moved its claws restlessly.  “I know you don’t like Draco and I thought you’d be disgusted with me.”  
  
“But…” Ron shook his head. “Hermione knew.”  
  
“She’d found out on her own, just like she said,” Harry replied.  “I didn’t want her to know either.  I didn’t want anyone to know, and don’t blame her for keeping it from you either.  That was all me.”  
  
Ron stared at him, apparently deciding if he believed what Harry was saying and his eyes flickered over to Hermione, who was sitting a fair distance away beside Pansy.  “I wouldn’t have stopped being your friend over something like that, though.  We’re best mates.  I thought you’d stopped wanting to be my friend.”  
  
“Why would you think that?” Harry asked, truly puzzled and disheartened.  
  
“You’d stopped spending time with us in the common room,” Ron blurted, and he looked truly irritated and bereft as he said it, as if it had been bothering him for quite some time and he had only been waiting for the chance to give Harry a piece of his mind.  “You went to bed early and then I barely spoke to you throughout the day.  Your mind always seemed a million miles away even when I tried to talk to you during lessons or in the Great Hall.  It was like you weren’t there.  And then I found out that you and Malfoy were… well, it was quite a nasty shock.”  
  
Harry stared at Ron, not knowing quite what to say, as the boy’s tirade halted.  He’d had no idea what Ron had been going through those past few months.  He hadn’t even noticed really.  He’d been so absorbed with what had been going on with him and Draco that he had barely thought about Ron at all.    
  
Harry looked down.  “I’m sorry, Ron.  I didn’t mean any of it.  You’re my best mate.  You always have been.”  
  
Ron sighed and shook his head, something he tended to do when he didn’t want to fight any more, and Harry felt relief well up in him.  Ron let out a loud breath, like he was releasing all the tension he had, and his back muscles noticeably unwound.  “I never would have thought you’d be ignoring me for Malfoy.”  
  
“I know,” Harry replied simply, wanting to deny that he had, but even he could see that it would be a hollow claim at best.  “I never meant to ignore you though.  Things with Draco have just been distracting.”  
  
Ron looked a bit ill.  “I don’t want to know, Harry.  I really don’t.”  
  
Harry chuckled.  “Believe me, I really don’t want to tell you about it.”  
  
Ron stared at him for a moment, looking a bit uncomfortable as if he wanted to say something, but then he just shook his head again before his lips tugged up into a smile.  “Good.”  
  
“So,” Harry began hesitantly.  “We all right?”  
  
Ron watched him, obviously thinking it over, and he pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “Yeah, we’re all right.”  
  
Harry smiled and he shook Ron’s hand.  
  
They went back to feeding the Malaclaw in companionable silence, a gigantic weight lifted from Harry’s shoulders, and he felt more content than he had in ages.  
  
“I never knew you were into blokes,” Ron suddenly blurted, as if he’d been waiting to say it for ages.  
  
“I’m not quite sure if I am,” Harry replied uncomfortably.  
  
“What are you on about?” Ron asked disbelievingly.  “Malfoy’s a bloke, isn’t he?”  
  
“Yeah, but I’ve only ever been attracted to him,” Harry stated, trying to ignore the way Ron looked a bit ill.  “Never any other blokes, and I’d fancied Cho before that.”  
  
Ron went silent at that and so did Harry.  He threw another crustacean at their Malaclaw, watching it gnaw through the shell and suck out the insides.    
  
“But seriously, Harry,” Ron said as if he’d been holding a one-sided conversation in his head all along.  “Malfoy?”  
  
Harry looked up and caught Draco glaring at Ron from across the field, but Ron didn’t see it. Harry sighed.  

“He’s really a good person once you get to know him.” Ron sent him an incredulous look, making Harry sigh again.  “It’s all right, Ron.  Don’t strain yourself.  I’m not expecting you two to become best mates.”  
  
Ron let out a short bark of laughter.  “Good, because I hate that wanker. Him and his arrogant, in-bred family.”  
  
Harry just shook his head.  “Just try to be civil when he’s around.”  
  
Ron let out a breath and slowly nodded.  “I’ll make a go of it, but only as long as he does the same.  I can’t be responsible for my actions if he’s off being a right git about my family.  And don’t expect me to start trusting him.  He’ll be the first I’ll suspect if you get hurt.”  
  
“Thanks, Ron.”  Harry smiled and his gaze slipped toward Draco across the field, who was watching him unabashedly.    
  
“Merlin, you really do love that prat, don’t you?” Ron exclaimed after he followed Harry’s line of sight, saying it as if he had truly just discovered the fact for the first time.  “You’ve gone around the bend.”  
  
Harry blushed, but didn’t say anything.  There was nothing he could say.  Draco sneered at Ron, but he was smirking good-naturedly as Harry caught his eye again.  Ron scowled at Draco openly.    
  
“Completely mental,” Ron muttered further as they both went back to feeding their Malaclaw, which now looked tired and fat.    
  
Hagrid called the lesson to an end, and Ron moved to pick up their now sleeping Malaclaw as Harry picked up their empty bucket.  Hermione walked over and, to Harry’s surprise, so did Draco.  Pansy glared at Draco from where Hermione had left her, but Blaise put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the castle.  Ron seemed to be doing his best not to scowl as Draco stepped up to Harry and kissed him.  Conscious that Ron was right there, Harry didn’t let the kiss linger, his face heating as they parted, but Draco didn’t seem to mind particularly as he glanced over at Ron with a smirk.  
  
“Weasley.”  
  
“Malfoy,” Ron bit out, obviously trying his best not to spit.  
  
“I see you’ve finally pulled your head out of your arse and begged for Potter’s forgiveness.”  
  
“What?” Ron exclaimed, looking fit to kill as Hermione put a bracing hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Draco!”  Harry exclaimed at the same time.    
  
“What?” Draco questioned innocently, casually surveying his nails.  “I was merely stating the facts.  After all, it isn’t your fault the Weasel is so starved for your attention and affirmation that he apparently expects you to spend every moment of every day tending to his needs.”  
  
“Draco!” Harry scowled, both shocked and angry by the boy’s behavior.  
  
“You bastard! I’ll –!” Ron lunged forward, which was a mistake,because the motion awoke the Malaclaw in his hand and the abused creature promptly bit him.  “OW!  BLOODY HELL!”  
  
“Oh no, Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, quickly pulling the Malaclaw off of him and letting it drop to the ground.  She held up Ron’s hand by the wrist and looked closely at the bite, which was already an angry red on his skin.    
  
“Poor luck, Weasley.”  Draco smirked at his own joke, but Harry was having none of it, because he grabbed Draco’s arm and yanked him away as Ron glared at him from just over Hermione’s frizzy hair while she inspected his wound.    
  
Draco was still smirking, but Harry yanked harder, pulling him along until they were behind Hagrid’s hut and Harry swirled around to glare at him.  “What was that, Draco?!”  
  
Draco’s smirk vanished and his eyes became steely.  “What was what, Potter?”  
  
“Don’t give me that load of bollocks,” Harry retorted, stepping up close to Draco until their noses were centimeters apart.  “You know what I’m talking about.  Why did you insult Ron just as I’d patched things up with him?”  
  
“I only stated the truth,” Draco retorted, his features pinched.  “If he can’t handle it then –”  
  
“That wasn’t the truth,” Harry cut in. “You just insulted him unnecessarily right after I’d told him you were a good person.  I’d just convinced him to give it a go and accept my relationship with you and then you just—”  Harry growled and pushed a hand through his hair.  
  
Draco just watched him coldly.  
  
“Why did you have to be such a prat to him?” Harry snapped bitterly.  He sat down on a boulder tiredly as the wind left his sails, and looked up at Draco.  “We’d just worked things out.”  
  
Draco’s expression didn’t change for a while as he stood there, his arms crossed, but then a stiff cold breeze blew his hair into his face and he pushed it away with a drawn out breath.  Draco stepped forward and sat down beside Harry on the same boulder so that their hips were touching. There was silence for a long time, and Harry was beginning to wonder if Draco was just going to try to ignore the question entirely, when he spoke.  
  
“But that’s just the thing, Potter,” Draco whispered.  “I’m not a good person.”  
  
Harry stared at him, noticing how sober and serious Draco had become. “But you are.”  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco muttered, and he wasn’t looking at Harry at all.  His gaze was fixed on the forest line that spread out before them, not really seeing the trees.    
  
“Draco,” Harry put a hand on Draco’s cheek, turning his face towards Harry.  “I know you’re a good person.  How could I love you if you weren’t?”

“You know what they say, Potter,” Draco whispered, his eyes sad. “Love is blind.”  
  
Harry pushed forward and kissed him, wanting to wipe that look off of Draco’s face.  It sent shivers down his spine and gave him an uncomfortably foreboding feeling.  He never wanted to see Draco look like that or talk like that again.  There was something wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what, and it bothered him greatly.  
  
“I know you,” Harry murmured against Draco’s lips, almost chanting it between the touch of their lips for his benefit as much as Draco’s.  “I know you.”  
  
When he finally pulled away, Draco didn’t look much better, and Harry struggled not to look away in discomfort.  
  
“You’d better get back to Weasley,” Draco murmured, his head down as if in defeat.  “Fix it up before you can’t anymore.”  
  
Harry let out a breath, suddenly wanting to leave and get away from the pall of bad feeling that had settled around them, and nodded.  He attempted to smile, something reassuring, but he was sure it looked strained as Draco watched him.  “I’ll see you later then.”  
  
And then he left Draco there as he went to search for Ron and Hermione.    
  
After questioning Hagrid, he found them in the hospital wing just as Madam Pomfrey was making Ron swallow a potion.  
  
“That should take care of the swelling and pain, but there is nothing I can administer for the other affects,” Madam Pomfrey stated once Ron put the goblet down with a pinched look of distaste.  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll be quite unfortunate for a while.”  
  
“Unfortunate?” Ron repeated bleakly.  
  
“Yes, the bite of the Mackled Malaclaw causes great misfortune to the victim,” Madam Pomfrey replied perfunctorily.  “You must be sure to head off any dangerous situations, no matter how innocuous they may seem, although even then, you will be quite unlucky and find yourself in some sticky spots.  For instance, you will have to remove yourself from Quidditch or else you could very well fall off your broom and kill yourself.”  
  
Ron looked absolutely devastated.  
  
“How long will it last, Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked, placing a gentle hand on Ron’s shoulder.  
  
“There is no way to know for certain,” Madam Pomfrey replied, appearing truly sympathetic.  “It could last up to a few days or a few months.”  
  
It was at that moment that Hermione noticed Harry and he stepped forward gloomily to the side of Ron’s bed.    
  
“I’m sorry, Ron,” Harry muttered.    
  
“It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Hermione soothed him, but Ron seemed to think otherwise as he frowned.    
  
“I told Draco off for what he did,” Harry said lamely.  Although he didn’t feel that would help his case much when it came to Ron.  He would understand if Ron didn’t want to speak to him again.  “Everything he said was ridiculous and uncalled for.”  
  
“What could you expect?” Ron questioned with a scowl.  “He’s a complete prat.”  
  
Harry didn’t say anything.  After his last encounter with Draco in the shadow of Hagrid’s hut, he found it hard to sort out his feelings on the matter.  It was painful and confusing to think about.    
Hermione sighed.  “Let’s go back to Gryffindor Tower.  I want to study for Potions before dinner.”  
  
“But Potions is on Monday!” Ron exclaimed as he sat up in the bed.  “That’s two days away!”

“I like to be prepared,” Hermione stated tiredly, as if she’d gone through these types of rows with Ron too many times before, which she probably had.  
  
The two squabbled as Harry followed them out of the hospital wing.  It was mostly uneventful except for when Ron nearly slipped on an errant puddle of water in the hall and Hermione had to hold him upright.  Harry brooded, wondering if Ron would forgive him.  Beneath the muddled feelings, he also worried about Draco.    
  
They sat with each other in the common room in an awkward silence, before Ron extended an olive branch and asked Harry if he wanted to play some exploding snap.  Hermione objected to the idea, noting Ron’s condition, so Ron settled for playing the much safer game of chess instead, but the principle of his invitation was there, and Harry was grateful.  
  
Harry ignored Draco in the Great Hall, focusing on Ron as he talked about the winning season for the Chuddley Cannons.  He was most afraid that if he looked at Draco, he would see that same disconcerting desolation painting his features, the expression that made Harry doubt everything.    
  
However, just as he was leaving the Great Hall, Draco stopped him in the corridor with a soft grip on his arm.  Harry stared at him, but Ron glared for all he was worth.  
  
“I need to speak with you,” Draco muttered, ignoring Ron entirely.  
  
Harry glanced back at Ron, before eyeing Draco.  “I will if you apologize to Ron.”  
  
Draco’s lips tightened, but he nodded and looked over at Ron reluctantly as if he’d rather not see Ron there at all.  “I apologize, Weasley.”  
  
Ron didn’t say anything, his expression hard and loathing, and a silence fell between them.  
  
Harry looked over at Hermione, who was standing tensely beside Ron.  “I’ll be up in the tower in a bit.  This shouldn’t take long.”  
  
Hermione nodded and pulled a moody Ron away with her.  When they were gone, Harry turned back toward Draco.  
  
“What is it?” Harry knew he sounded cold, but he found himself feeling even more frustrated and angry as that strange foreboding feeling rose up in him once again.  
  
Draco watched him for a moment, his face completely blank, before he tugged on Harry’s arm and pulled him toward an empty classroom down the hall.  Harry followed and waited as Draco closed the classroom door shut behind them.  Harry stood in the middle of the room and Draco stepped up to him.  
  
“I need to give you something,” Draco finally stated, and he pulled something out of a pocket of his robes.    
  
Harry reached out and took what Draco offered, realizing it was a small green felt box. He looked up at Draco questioningly.  
  
“Open it.”  
  
Harry did, his fingers shaking a bit until he saw what was inside and he froze.  It was an intricately carved silver ring that looked like a dragon looped around with two emerald eyes.  He pulled it out of the box to inspect it.  It was beautiful in a mesmerizing way.  
  
“What is this?” he asked as Draco watched him with what looked to be trepidation.  
  
“It’s my gift to you,” Draco murmured quietly.  “It’s my birth ring.”  
  
“Birth ring?”  
  
“A pureblood tradition,” Draco explained softly.  “A ring is created using a bit of magic from the newborn wizard to commemorate their birth.  It is also the ring the wizard uses to propose to their intended once they are of age.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened.  “I can’t--”  
  
“There’s a special spell on it for binding,” Draco interrupted.  “As long as you wear it, we’ll be connected.”  
  
“Draco,” Harry breathed, not knowing what to say as the ring glinted in the moonlight from the windows.  “I –”  
  
“Just wear it, Harry,” Draco spoke imploringly.  “It’s intended for you.”  
  
“All right,” Harry replied breathlessly, and he slipped the ring onto his ring finger.  It resized itself automatically, fitting perfectly.  He smiled tremulously as it glinted back at him, his chest filling with warmth.  
  
Draco smiled a bit, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and Harry kissed him, wanting that sadness to disappear.  Draco clutched the back of Harry’s robes and Harry pulled him into a tight embrace.  
  
“Tell me,” Harry murmured against Draco’s lips.  “What did you require from the Room of Requirement?”  
  
Draco sighed and tucked his head beside Harry’s, resting his chin on his shoulder.    
  
“Sanctuary.”  
  
Harry held Draco tighter, something about that confession making him shiver.  
  
“Go to the ball with me, Draco.”  Harry spoke against Draco’s ear.    
  
Draco nodded.  “Of course I will.”

His voice sounded oddly hoarse, but Harry didn’t comment on it.  He just held Draco tighter, somehow feeling as though there was an invisible current attempting to wash them away and if he just held on, they’d make it through.  They held each other like that for a long time, Harry never seeing the expression of absolute anguish on Draco’s face.      
  
After that night, Draco became decidedly distant.  Harry would have suspected that he was even avoiding him except for the few times that Draco stopped him in the halls and kissed him, but even then it was mechanical, like Draco was just an actor going through the motions.  Harry tried not to think about it.  He tried to deny that anything was wrong with Draco or their relationship, but after a week passed, and the term ended, he could no longer create that sort of elaborate lie for himself.  
  
Harry tried to occupy his darkening thoughts by accompanying Ron around the castle and making sure his friend didn’t fall victim to some unlucky happenstance, like a moving staircase swinging in the wrong direction or an ax from a suit of armor randomly falling on his head.     
However, eventually, he broke down and told Hermione about his concerns one night when they were the only ones left in the common room after Ron had finally gone up to bed .  
  
She just shook her head.  “I don’t know, Harry.  Perhaps he’s just anxious about Voldemort or his father.  It might not have anything to do with you.”  
  
Harry nodded, but he wasn’t entirely convinced.  There was something nagging at him, something he knew he should be comprehending, but nothing came to him.  
  
His mood only darkened when Ron stumbled into the common room one night, looking frantic and plopping down beside Harry and Hermione where they had been studying.  
  
“The Slytherins are up to something.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, noticing for the first time how pale Ron looked.  
  
“Ron, what happened to you?” Hermione questioned with a note of concern, putting down her book.  “You look dreadful.”  
  
“I meant what I said,” Ron stated, ignoring Hermione entirely and looking at Harry as he pushed a hand through his hair and worked to catch his labored breath.  “They were in the third floor corridor.  Snape was questioning Blaise about something, and he sounded really cross.”  
  
“What were you doing in the third floor corridor?” Hermione asked, almost reproachfully as she fell back into Prefect mode.  
  
Ron reddened all the way to his ears and looked away. “I got stuck in a broom closet.”  
  
“Oh, the curse!” Hermione gasped.  “I’d forgotten.  Why did you go alone without one of us for company?  You know how dangerous that is with your condition!”  
  
“Never mind that!” Ron waved his hand as if he couldn’t believe Hermione was so stuck on his condition when he had just imparted his news.  “What’s important is that Snape and Blaise were making plans!”  
  
“Making plans?” Hermione questioned.  “How do you know this? Did you hear them?”  
  
“Well, no,” Ron spluttered a bit sheepishly.  “But I could tell.”  
  
“But you said Snape sounded cross,” Hermione stated reasonably.  “How do you know he wasn’t just doing his job as Head of Slytherin House and detaining one of his students for being out after hours.”  
  
“But it wasn’t after hours!” Ron retorted.  “This was hours ago!”  
  
“How long have you been stuck in the broom closet?!” Hermione gasped, her eyes widening with concern.  
  
“Not long,” Ron immediately denied, but then he shook his head as his ears turned beet-red. “Well, only for a few hours, but I’m out now so can we just leave it?”  
  
“You didn’t hear anything they were saying?” Harry asked, trying to get the conversation back on track as Hermione frowned defensively and opened her mouth to deal out a scathing rebuttal.  
  
“Bits of it,” Ron replied sheepishly.  “And I recognized their voices.  They were standing right next to the closet door.”  
  
“So you didn’t even see them?” Hermione questioned with an arched brow.  
  
“No, if you will recall, I was stuck in a broom closet with the door closed and everything,” Ron stated exasperatedly.  “But I know what I heard.  Snape sounded really cross and Blaise kept on saying ‘yes, sir’ over and over. Then…” Ron’s voice faded and he looked at Harry straight in the eye.  
  
“What?”  Harry replied, pinned by Ron’s meaningful gaze.  
  
“Then Blaise said that he was making sure _he_ was doing his job, and Snape said that Blaise had better hope _this person_ did it well.”  
  
Hermione’s eyebrow’s knit, and she glanced at Harry.  
  
“You think they were talking about Draco doing something for Voldemort,” Harry stated, his fingers tensing on the arms of his chair. Ron merely looked at him, but it was enough.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Harry said, but that foreboding feeling constricted his chest and he wanted to deny its existence with everything he had.    
  
“You don’t know that,” Ron pressed, his mouth pulled into a frown.  “I know what I heard.”  
  
“You heard nothing.  They didn’t even say his name,” Harry retorted, scowling now.  “Why can’t you just let it go?”  
  
“Why can’t you stop being so blind and see Malfoy for the venomous snake he really is?” Ron snapped, leaning forward on his chair.  
  
“Ron, I don’t think –” Hermione shook her head, but Harry cut in.  
  
“I’m not blind!” Harry denied heatedly, glaring at Ron now.  “I just know him better than you do!”  
  
 _I know you, I know you…_  
  
“You just think you do!” Ron stood up, his voice rising.  “He’s got you bewitched, and you’re so enthralled with him, you can’t stand the fact that he just might not love you back!”  
  
“Ron!” Hermione admonished, looking shocked.  
  
Harry went rigid, trembling with rage as he looked up at Ron, various objects around the room began to rattle, but luckily, no one else was occupying the common room.  Ron was glaring down at him, pink-faced, and Harry stood up.  “He loves me and I love him, and you’re the one who just can’t accept it!  You’ve hated him for ages and you just can’t deal with the fact that I don’t!”    
  
Ron scowled. “How can you be so sure he loves you back?  That potion?”  
  
Harry closed his mouth because that was exactly what he had been about to say. Ron could apparently see this in his expression, because he barked out a dark laugh.  “The only thing the potion told you was that Malfoy was in love, not that he was in love with you! If you can remember, Pansy was also in love with him and the two looked quite cozy before he finally shacked up with you!  How do you know he isn’t just getting close to you to take advantage?”  
  
“Shut up!” Harry shouted, his old doubts awakening. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.  You don’t know him.  Draco was right.  You just can’t stand me wanting to spend time with him instead of you!”  
  
Ron stared at him, looking as if he’d been slapped across the face, his chest rising and falling with his quick breaths.  His eyes fell to the ring on Harry’s finger and he scowled.  
  
Harry was too angry with him to care or feel guilty for what he’d said, and he glared back at Ron defiantly.  
  
Ron’s eyes flashed dangerously.  “You haven’t just been ignoring me.  You’ve been ignoring the entire war.”    
  
“What are you on about?” Harry’s voice went dangerously low, and he tensed at what Ron was implying.  
  
“Hermione and I have been talking about it,” Ron snapped, uncowed, and his eyes flicked toward Hermione meaningfully.  Harry glanced at Hermione and she appeared conspicuously guilty, barely catching Harry’s eye.    
  
“What have you two been saying?” Harry questioned, his muscles tensed with betrayal as he stared at Hermione.    
  
Hermione didn’t reply, but Ron did.  “We don’t think you’re taking the war seriously.”  
  
Harry stared at Ron in shock, but Ron only looked at him squarely, defiantly.  “That’s not –”  
  
“Bollocks!” Ron interrupted.  “Ever since this thing with Malfoy started you’ve been ignoring your responsibilities.  You’d refused to teach the DA when we’ve been left without a proper Defense professor.  Then, when Hermione finally found some students to teach it, you’ve never attended. Not even once!  You haven’t even been taking private lessons on Defense from anyone, and when you’ve had visions from You-Know-Who you’ve largely ignored them.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to retort, his fists shaking, but Ron cut him off.  
  
“You’ve changed, Harry! Last year you would have been itching to get to the bottom of anything having to do with You-Know-Who.  You would have worked harder to investigate suspicious characters like Snape, but this year it’s like you’ve forgotten entirely.  It’s like you don’t care!”  
  
“I _do_ care!” Harry retorted, his voice shaking.  “I care more than you know!”  
  
“Then bloody well act like it!” Ron snapped.  “You’re the Chosen One, aren’t you? Do you even understand what that means?  People are dying and you’re the only one who can –”  
  
“DON’T!” Harry shouted and all of the glass picture frames around the room burst into small shards.  “You don’t think I know who I am? What I’m supposed to do?!  You don’t think I know there’s a target on my back and I could die any day?  You have no idea!  You have no idea what it’s like to have your future completely stolen from you, planned until the very last moment!  I know what’s in store for me, I know what I have to do, what I _must_ do!  And by the end of it, I’ll either be a murderer or dead!  But that’s not all, because if I die, if I fail, then everyone else, everyone who I love, will die too!”  
  
Harry was breathing heavily, his chest tight, as something worked its way up his throat and lodged there.  Ron and Hermione were watching him silently.  Harry took in a shuddering breath.

“I know what I have to do,” Harry croaked, quieter now.  “I think about it all the time.  I spent the entire summer thinking about revenge.  All I wanted was to kill Voldemort and be done with it.  And once I knew that it could only be me, I dreamed of that confrontation over and over again.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so much it nearly drove me mad.”  
  
Harry didn’t want to talk about how scared it had made him too. How during those lonely nights at the Dursleys, the dreams were more often nightmares ending in his death and the death of all those he had loved, all because he had failed.  He didn’t talk about how the moments when he was most determined and full of rage at Voldemort for everything he had done were most often followed by moments of doubt and excruciating fear.  There were moments when all he wanted to do was escape somehow, leave his responsibilities entirely, but those were rare, because he knew that option was entirely out of the question.  He was determined to protect everyone he loved past and present, even if he had to sacrifice himself.    
  
He glanced at Hermione, noting the tears in her eyes with a pang of guilt.  
  
“I know what I have to do,” he repeated, his voice hoarse.  “But I also want at least one part of my life to be my own, and Draco, he gives me that.  With him, I can forget for at least a moment that my fate is decided for me.  With him, at least for a time, I’m just Harry.  Is it so wrong for me to want a normal life?”  
  
Harry stared at Ron imploringly, feeling utterly drained.  
  
Ron sighed and looked away.  

“I’m sorry Harry, but for you, it is wrong.” Ron’s eyes were hard and unforgiving when he looked back at him.  “Malfoy is going to betray you, and then we’ll all be in trouble, not just you.”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head.  He suddenly felt as if Ron was a million miles away, on the opposite side of an insurmountable chasm. “You’re wrong, Ron.”  
  
“Ron –” Hermione started, staring at him imploringly.  
  
“I’m going to bed,” Ron muttered, and then he left, bumping Harry’s shoulder on his way past.  
  
Harry stared after him, clenching his fists, and knowing that now he wouldn’t be able to go up to the dorm room for quite some time.  The guilt rose in him, but he was still quite angry, and he couldn’t bring himself to forgive Ron for accusing Draco and questioning Harry’s judgment.  He would rather not talk to Ron for a while.  
  
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione murmured when Harry collapsed back into his seat.  “Ron didn’t mean what he said about your right to choose how you live.  He’s just frightened.  We all are.”

Harry didn’t look at her.  He didn’t want to be angry with her too.  He suddenly felt profoundly alone.    
  
“You should go to Dumbledore,” Hermione spoke into the silence, watching Harry imploringly.  “Let him know your suspicions about –”  
  
“He knows,” Harry interrupted lowly.  “I’ve told him before about Snape, but he won’t hear of it, and with Blaise, there’s not enough proof.  No matter what Ron says.  That conversation didn’t reveal anything.”  
  
He could feel her eyes on him, but she didn’t say anything more, and they sat there in silence for a time, Harry’s brooding thoughts turning over and over in his head.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mackled Malaclaw is an actual creature from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by J.K. Rowling. All of the facts I include in this chapter about it are based on the information from that book.


	9. Cowardice and Courage

By the end of that week, a little less than half of the students had left for the winter holidays, and the castle was left with far more students gracing its halls than was usual during the short break.  However, this did not include Hermione and Ron, who had decided to go to the Burrow for Christmas.  Ron and Harry had not spoken since their row and Hermione had decided to just let it be.  She accompanied Ron not to get away from Harry, but to be there for her boyfriend, and Harry didn’t begrudge her the decision.  
  
As the night of the Ball approached, Harry’s concerns about Draco distracted him from brooding about Ron.  Even with all the free time afforded them without lessons, Harry hardly saw Draco. When he did, he couldn’t help feeling as if Draco wasn’t really there with him.  Draco no longer seemed to enjoy their time together. Instead, he often seemed distant or sad.  He snapped at Harry more often about trivial things, and sometimes he would shirk Harry’s touch altogether, preferring to sit at a distance from him even when they were outside and no one was around.  Sometimes Draco would just stare at the ring he’d given Harry as if it had personally wronged him, and only when Harry moved his hand would he snap out of it and look away self-consciously.  
  
It frustrated and angered Harry when this happened, but ultimately he didn’t know how to fix it. It was this helplessness along with the worry that Draco might be regretting having given him his birth ring that kept Harry up at night.    
  
The only thing he could do with any sense of purpose was watch Blaise or Snape for any suspicious behavior when they were in the vicinity.  He was obstinate about Draco’s innocence, but Snape and Blaise were fair game, and he felt deep down that both of them could possibly be agents of Voldemort and a threat to Draco.    
  
However, by the time he was anxiously putting on a new robe that Hermione had found for him at Hogsmeade and checking himself in the bathroom mirror the night of the Ball, Harry had not found any incriminating evidence that either Snape or Blaise were up to something. But more importantly, given how the past week had gone, he was fairly certain that Draco was planning to break up with him.    
  
Thoroughly morose, Harry made his way down to the common room. Seamus and Dean greeted him in the common room as Neville followed him down the stairs, but Harry could only muster a sort of gloomy half-nod in their direction.  Neville glanced at him with concern, but thankfully, he didn’t comment and Seamus joked a bit about something that Harry didn’t quite catch.    
  
He saw Draco at the bottom of the staircase before the Great Hall, looking resplendent in new, silver dress robes that would have been breathtaking had he not looked so dour and sickly.  Draco’s gray eyes followed Harry as he walked down the stairs, but instead of looking happy to see him, Draco appeared disturbed and anxious.  

Harry let in a shaky breath, now certain that this was the end.  Draco was surely going to tell him their relationship was over.  However, when he stepped off of the last step, Draco moved forward and grabbed onto his arm, kissing him on the cheek.         
  
They both walked through the doors behind Seamus and Dean and sat down at a table that held six seats.  The decorations looked much as they had the last time, although perhaps not as extravagant.   Seamus and Dean sat down together at two of the remaining seats, followed by Neville and Luna who filled out the table.  Neville nodded politely at Harry and then Draco, but Draco didn’t even acknowledge him, he stared in the direction of the dance floor.  Harry followed his line of sight, noticing that a load of Slytherins were sat on the other side, including Blaise and Pansy.  Harry’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he watched Blaise, but the boy was ignoring Harry’s table completely.      
  
“All right, Malfoy?” Seamus greeted and Draco finally snapped out of his trance to look at him.  
  
Draco nodded jerkily, and Harry squeezed his hand beneath the table in reassurance, even if he didn’t know what was bothering him.  Draco’s palms were sweaty.  For all he knew, Draco didn’t like the idea of sitting so publicly with a bunch of Gryffindors. He was also afraid that Draco didn’t want to sit with him specifically, but Draco’s eyes locked with his for a short moment before his fingers squeezed Harry’s in return.    
  
Eventually, Seamus and Dean got into a conversation about Quidditch, and Neville and Luna conversed about some new imaginary creature Luna’s father had ‘discovered’.  That left Harry and Draco sitting in silence.    
  
The music started as some wizard band Harry had never heard of before began to play, and students began to trickle onto the dance floor.  Seamus jokily bowed and asked Dean to dance and the two stood up.  It was only a matter of time before Neville worked up the courage to ask Luna, and Harry and Draco were left alone at the table.    
  
Harry looked over at Draco and noticed with some alarm that his skin was paler than usual and clammy with sweat.    
  
“Draco, are you all right?”     
  
“I’m fine,” Draco snapped, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

Harry sent him a dubious look, but Draco remained obstinate.  
  
“I could get you something to drink,” Harry offered instead of pushing the point, squeezing Draco’s sweat-slicked palm.  
  
“No need,” Draco replied tersely. He kept on glancing at the clock on the other side of the hall anxiously.    
  
“What’s going on?” Harry questioned, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder.  
  
Draco looked at him, his eyes a bit wild, and he began to shake.    
  
“Draco,” Harry gasped in alarm, and he automatically pulled the blond against him as much as he could while they were still sitting in two separate chairs. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I just need some air,” Draco breathed against his shoulder, his voice trembling.  
  
Harry nodded.  “All right.”  
  
Then he stood up and pulled Draco with him.  He tugged Draco out the doors of the hall and into the gardens which had been enchanted much the same way they had been the last Yule Ball.  Ice pixies flitted about like fireflies and lit the falling snow with their cool luminescence. The effect would have been immensely romantic had Harry not felt so unnerved.    
  
Harry quickly pulled Draco to a bench and sat down.  Draco was looking around quickly, biting his lip anxiously. His eyes seemed to catch upon a large clock affixed above the doorway to the Great Hall.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco turned to him abruptly, looking straight at him with an expression of great urgency.  
  
“You have to give me back the ring, Harry.”  
  
Harry’s heart plunged into his stomach and he realized with a jolt that this was it.  Draco was finally breaking up with him.    
  
“Why?” Harry questioned, not wanting to let it end like this. He would fight for it.  He could fix it, whatever it was that Draco felt or no longer felt.  They could work it out.  
  
“There’s no time to explain,” Draco said, and his voice was unnaturally strained and breathless now.  “Just give it back.”  
  
“No,” Harry denied, recklessly. “I don’t want to give up like this.  We can work out whatever it is.”  
  
Draco sent him a look of incomprehension, but his eyes darted toward the clock again and he appeared to truly panic. He put his fingers around the ring on Harry’s finger as if to pull it off himself.  “You don’t understand, Harry.  If you don’t give it back right now, you –”  
  
But then Harry felt an oddly familiar tug behind his navel, and Draco cursed.  Harry’s eyes widened with shock and the last thing he felt before he was pulled through time and space was Draco throwing his arms around him, holding on to him tightly.  
  
The next moment, Harry’s knees collapsed painfully onto cold stone, Draco’s arms still around him as they tumbled to the ground.  
  
“I wasn’t aware you were planning to escort our guest, Draco.”  
  
Harry stiffened at that voice, and he could feel Draco’s body going equally rigid beneath him.  Breathing harshly, Harry dislodged himself from Draco’s slackening hold and sat up, staring up at the face of Lucius Malfoy.  Harry’s heart stopped and he couldn’t help gasping in shock.  
  
Draco scrambled to his feet, his expression suddenly inscrutable and he nodded.  “I felt it best to make sure he couldn’t escape, Father.”  
  
“Indeed,” Lucius drawled, although his gaze swept over Draco critically.  “Fine work, son.”

“Draco?”  
  
Harry stared at him, feeling as though he had been punched in the gut.  The realization that Draco must have betrayed him filtered through his brain, and he found it hard to breathe as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. His surroundings spun dizzingly as his heart-beat pounded in his ears. He wondered how long Draco had been planning his duplicity, and a fresh wave of nausea threatened to choke him.    
  
He wanted to deny that Draco had any hand in this, but it was clear to him that Draco had planted the portkey, disguised as a ring, on his person. The only thing that could have possibly absolved him of guilt was the fact that Draco had tried to take it back, and Harry clung to that thought. That last, merciful bit of hope steadied him enough to stay clear-headed, although he was unable to wipe his expression completely clean of his initial horror.      
  
“I can see this is quite a shock for you, Potter.”  Lucius’s cold voice cut through his thoughts, and the man gestured around the dark dungeon Harry and Draco had portkeyed into.  “But you see, we’ve been expecting you for quite some time.”  
  
Harry sent an anxious look toward Draco before reaching for his wand, and adrenaline pumped through his veins, but it wasn’t there in his robes.  A thrill of panic jolted up his spine. He’d left it back up in his dorm before the Ball.    
  
“No wand, I see,” Lucius sneered, his eyes narrowing with amusement.  “Pity.”  
  
And then Lucius flicked his own wand and muttered, _“Crucio.”_  
  
Harry fell back to the dirty stone ground, his insides on fire as he bit his lower lip, trying not to scream.  His muscles spasmed involuntarily and he bit his lip so hard he could taste the blood. When he finally came to, the pain abated to a tolerable ache, and he looked up to see Draco standing beside his father, his face absolutely blank.  Harry groaned at the pain, both physical and emotional, that swept through his body as he forced himself to sit back up and spit out the blood that was pooling in his mouth.  
  
“Now Draco, prove your loyalty,” Lucius commanded, eyes flickering to his son.  “Hurt your _beloved_ Harry Potter.”  
  
Draco nodded, and he didn’t hesitate as he raised his wand, his eyes cold.  
  
“Draco,” Harry uttered in alarm, but it was at that point the painful realization cut through him like a knife.  Draco was going to do it. Any love for Harry he’d purported to have had been a part of a trap from the very start.  
  
Ron had been right.  
  
 _“Crucio.”_  
  
This time Harry screamed.  The pain was soul-rending, traveling deeper than mere bone and flesh and straight into his heart.  When it was over, he was left panting breathlessly on the ground, unbidden tears streaking down the sides of his face as everything in his body simmered.  
  
“Good, Draco,” Lucius commended, a sickly smirk pulling at his thin lips.  “It seems you were telling the truth and this has all been your plan from the very start.  Despite your initial duplicity, the Dark Lord will forgive you with this offering.”  
  
“Thank you, Father,” Draco bowed, his face just as unnaturally blank as if he was no more human than a doll.    
  
“Now come,” Lucius gestured toward the dungeon door. “We shall await the Dark Lord’s arrival.”  
  
Draco nodded obediently and stepped out of the cell past his father. Lucius followed and took special care to lock the door behind him with a multitude of containing wards and locking spells.  They disappeared up the stairs where another door creaked shut and then Harry was left alone in the dim torchlight, shaking with heartbreak and abject fury.  
  
Harry ripped the ring off of his finger and threw it across the cell so that it hit the opposite wall with a loud clink.  He suddenly wished he could destroy it, but without his wand that was impossible.  So he squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to ignore it instead.  
  
Hours passed in the darkness and Harry’s mind raced with thoughts and memories.  He was so emotionally distraught and angry, it was difficult for him to clear his head and think about how he might escape.  Harry took a series of deep breaths until he felt contained enough to think. Then he wondered where he was, although he had a few ideas.  He wouldn’t be surprised if it was Malfoy manor, although there was no way to know for sure.  All he knew was that he was in a place that was dark, cold, and wet; most likely underground.  Only the air was dry because of the chill, and Harry could see his own breath, lit by the dim torchlight coming from the stairway.  
     
He scoured the mossy stone walls futilely for defects or hidden passageways, thinking about how Draco had betrayed him and how long he could have possibly been planning it.  Memories of Draco’s touch, of kissing him, of making love to him were suddenly poison, burning Harry’s insides.  It was all he could do not to fall on his knees and roar with the pain of it, with the rage he had for Draco, and the hatred he had for himself for being so stupid and trusting and lovesick.    
  
Now that Harry knew, everything Draco had done had become suspect, and he found himself wondering how he had missed the clues that were now so obvious.  Draco had even told him he wasn’t a good person.  Love was blind, he’d said.  And Ron had known. He’d been right, and Harry hadn’t listened.  Harry dug his fingernails into the dirt between the stones in the wall, pressing his burning scar against the cool stone and shutting his eyes tightly.  
  
The worst part was that even now, with all this pain and all his newfound understanding, Harry found it hard to stop loving Draco. That was the most painful and pathetic aspect of all.  Even now, Harry somehow believed somewhere deep down that Draco was worth loving.  

Harry turned around and slid to the floor, letting out a shaky breath.  He was hopeless.    
  
Ron was right.  He was absolutely barmy.    
  
Harry sat still like that for a long time, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall as a spider slowly descended from the ceiling to the ground.  He contemplated what he would do when he next saw Voldemort, how he would have to remain defiant, even as helpless as he was without his wand. Then the door to the dungeon opened with a loud creak.    
  
Harry looked up immediately, the doorway hidden from view, but he heard someone making their way down the stairs to his cell, their footsteps echoing across the walls.  Finally, the figure appeared and Harry tensed.  
  
Draco stared at him through the bars to his cell, his face as impassive as it had been before he’d left and suddenly Harry wanted to punch him just to make him react in some way that was human.    
  
“Potter,” Draco nodded.  
  
“How long?” Harry questioned accusingly, his voice rough with barely restrained anger.  
  
Draco didn’t reply, he just looked at him blankly.  
  
Harry got up and pushed his body up against the bars.  Draco stepped back a bit.  Harry’s entire body was shaking, his magic bleeding from him and crackling against the heavy door but going no further. His cell must have been protected somehow from any type of magic.  He slammed a hand against the bars.  
  
“How long, Malfoy?!”  
  
“How long, what, Potter?” Draco’s voice was low, almost a whisper, and aggravatingly monotonous.  
  
“How long have you been planning this?” Harry’s voice broke, his breathing heavier than he would have liked, but it was all he could do to keep his composure.  
  
“Long enough,” Draco confessed, his voice empty of guilt. It made Harry angrier than ever.  
  
“Fuck you,” Harry growled, not knowing what else to say, feeling as if his world was crashing down around him for the second time.  “ _Fuck you_.”  
  
Draco stared at him, frustratingly unaffected.  Harry slammed his hand against the bars of the door again, ignoring the pain that stung all the way up to his elbow.    
  
Draco snapped his fingers and a loud pop followed as a house elf appeared beside him.  The elf bowed lowly to Draco, its entire body trembling.  
  
“Master Draco is calling Blinky?”  
  
“Cuff the prisoner, Blinky,” Draco ordered dispassionately.  “Then take him to the location I had specified earlier.”  
  
The elf bowed lowly again, glancing over at Harry nervously, before it popped out of existence and popped back right beside Harry within his cell.  Harry didn’t have time to react as the elf grabbed his wrists with a surprisingly strong grip and snapped something cold around them both, locking them in place behind his back.  Harry’s stomach dropped, realizing that Draco must be sending him to Voldemort.    
  
Draco stepped away then moved to leave.  
  
“Malfoy!” Harry yelled.  “Don’t you dare walk away!”  
  
But Draco didn’t falter in his steps, never looking back as he climbed the stairs before the door at the top finally clanged shut with finality.    
  
Blinky pressed long fingers to the bars and something sizzled and cracked.  The cell door creaked open and Harry tried to struggle as the elf pulled him forward, but acute exhaustion overtook his limbs.  It didn’t take him long to realize that the hand cuffs were somehow draining his energy and possibly his magic as well.  He scowled, but Blinky just pulled him in the opposite direction of the stairs.  
  
“Where are you taking me?” Harry questioned.  
  
Blinky fidgeted but barely glanced back at him.  “Master’s orders, sir.”  
  
They reached a wall and Blinky touched a stone, causing a cluster of stones near the bottom to move aside.  Harry stared and realized it was a secret passage, although it was very small and low to the ground.  Blinky tugged on his elbow and Harry was forced onto his knees.  Too tired to fight, Harry shuffled forward in that way as Blinky pulled him through the passage.  There was barely enough room for him to move and his knees got ravaged from the rough stones in the ground, but he grit his teeth.  The passage smelled like rotting meat and sulfur, and Harry had to do his best not to retch.    
  
Soon the passageway broke off into multiple tunnels in many directions and Blinky pulled him to the right.  They moved like this for what seemed like hours, turning right or left every time they reached a fork.  Harry’s knees felt raw with pain and one of his legs spasmed the longer he shuffled, but he didn’t make a sound, determined to keep his dignity for when he met Voldemort.  Suddenly, there was a spot of light in the distance, and Blinky pulled him toward it.  The moment they reached it, Blinky jumped and pulled Harry right into a large body of water.  
  
Harry struggled to stay afloat and then gasped as water rushed around him.  It was so cold, his skin burned with the contact and his muscles seized up so much it was hard to breathe.  Blinky was pulling him in a certain direction and Harry could do nothing but follow, kicking his legs as hard as he could while his hands remained uselessly tied to his back and the cuffs sapped him of energy.  
  
When he finally reached land, he gasped shallowly, overcome by a coughing fit, before falling forward into the muddy snow and shivering violently.  He could feel Blinky come up behind him and he thought the elf would tug at him again, but then something snapped and his hands were free, the cuffs gone.   Harry blinked, his breathing still erratic, but energy suddenly infused him, calming his shaking muscles.  He saw the house elf from the corner of his eye wave a hand and Harry’s clothing instantly dried and warmed, reducing his involuntary spasms and hitching breath.  
  
He sat up, rubbing his wrists, and cautiously surveyed his surroundings.  He was in the middle of a snow-packed forest by a small lake.  He looked in the direction he’d come. There was a long stone structure with an opening at the end where he’d come out, winding all the way back from the edge of the lake to a large house in the distance.  It was just before dawn and the sun had yet to rise over the horizon, giving the sky a muted blue glow, rimmed by gold.  It was also completely still and vacant.  He couldn’t see Voldemort or Death Eaters anywhere.    
  
Blinky stepped around to face him.  “Master is telling Blinky to be giving this to Harry Potter.”  
  
The elf put out a hand, holding a folded piece of parchment.  Harry stared at it, his heart beating quickly and his mouth suddenly dry.  He took the parchment with shaking fingers and unfolded it.  
  
His breath hitched when he read the simple message.  
  
 _Please forgive me. I will always love you._  
  
Harry noticed the ink was a bit smudged and bleeding out around the word goodbye as if a single drop of liquid had seeped into it.  
  
“Harry Potter is to be going now,” Blinky cut in as Harry’s vision became blurry.  “Master Lucius is to be visiting the dungeon soon along with his Master.”  
  
Harry began to shake, painful understanding rushing over him as he stared at the note and sensed the finality of Draco’s farewell.  He looked up to the house in the distance, its cold exterior hiding the horror within.    
  
“No, _no_!” He stood and stumbled forward, but a hand whipped out and gripped his wrist, pulling him back.  Harry swirled around angrily, glaring at the house elf behind him, who was looking up at him sternly.  
  
“Let me go, Blinky,” Harry growled, adrenaline and fear rushing through his veins.  
  
“Harry Potter is to be going,” Blinky repeated stubbornly.  “Master Draco is ordering Blinky.”  
  
“Master Draco is about to die!” Harry shouted and his voice broke as he tugged hard, trying to free himself.  “Let me go, Blinky!”  
  
Blinky just watched him, immovable.  
  
Harry roared and tugged again, hard, and this time he was able to pull free so quickly that he almost fell forward.    
  
“Harry Potter!” Blinky croaked in dismay, but Harry was already dashing along the lake toward the manor.  “You is not having a wand!”  
  
Suddenly, Harry heard a loud pop beside him and something grabbed his shoulder from behind, making him almost fall backward with the momentum.  
  
“Let me go, Blinky!” Harry roared.  “I have to stop it! I have to save him!”  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Harry froze and turned his head to see his captor properly, his eyes widened as his gaze trailed upward.  
  
“Are you all right, Harry?” the familiar man asked, his blue eyes looking down at him with concern.  
  
“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked breathlessly, and then the silence of the forest was interrupted by a multitude of loud pops as witches and wizards Apparated around them. Remus appeared suddenly, and when he noticed Harry, measurable relief tugged at his haggard features.  “Harry, you’re all right.”

Remus quickly pulled Harry into an embrace.

“We’d thought you were imprisoned or worse,” Remus muttered into his ear, the relief clear in his voice.    
  
Harry pulled away and Remus looked down at him with concern, but Harry looked around, noticing that the forest around the lake was suddenly filled with Order members who were all watching him. He searched for Blinky, but the elf was notably absent. He looked back up at the manor, his insides filling with an icy chill, dread gripping his heart. Questions flew through his mind, but they were quashed by the very real urgency to save Draco’s life.    
  
“We have to save Draco,” Harry said once the shock had worn off, his voice trembling against his will.  “They’re going to kill him.”  
  
Remus’s brows knit together before he looked at Dumbledore, and the old man nodded. “The Order will do all it can. But I ask that you go back to Hogwarts, Harry.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to retort; he didn’t want to leave Draco behind, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder once again and spoke.  
  
“You have done all you can, Harry.  Leave the rest to us.”  
  
Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, the old headmaster appeared somber but powerful magic flowed from him and tingled upon Harry’s skin.  Harry clenched his fists.  He didn’t want to leave, but then something went horribly wrong and his scar burst with pain.  
  
“Harry!” Remus exclaimed behind him, but Harry barely heard him, blood pounding past his ear drums as his heart raced.  
  
Harry crumpled to the ground, holding his head against the searing pain as his fear for Draco doubled. “He knows!”  
  
“Remus.” It was Dumbledore’s voice, speaking urgently.  “Take Harry back to Hogwarts.”  
  
“Right,” Remus replied, sounding worried.  
  
Harry was pulled to his feet roughly and he groaned, swaying, but he just managed to open his eyes a crack before another wave of pain burned through his scar.  He saw the Order members staring at him with alarm as Dumbledore turned to address them, Tonk’s hair turning from bright pink to snow white.  Another stabbing pain pierced through Harry’s forehead as if someone had stuck a knife through his scar and he bit his lip from screaming just as he caught the Dark Mark blistering across the sky above the manor.  
  
“No,” Harry croaked, but it was too late.  
  
Hexes flew across the snow, hitting trees and bursting the bark like grenades.  Death eaters Apparated all around them, shooting more hexes as the Order members blocked them with Protego charms and retaliated.    
  
Bellatrix Apparated into existence very near Dumbledore, and her deranged gaze fell upon Harry.  She screamed, “Potter’s here! Get him!”    
  
Remus grabbed Harry’s hand, and through the excruciating pain, Harry just caught Dumbledore turning around and blocking Harry from view. Dumbledore’s purple robes swirled around him as he raised his wand and snow solidified into an icy wall on the other side, blocking a multitude of hexes.  Then Harry was pulled away in a dizzying blur of sound and color, coming to a violent halt somewhere jarringly silent in comparison.  
  
He was about to collapse as another wave of pain attacked him, but Remus held him up by the armpit and slung his arm over his shoulders.  Harry breathed heavily, the pain in his scar making his vision blurry, but he was able to recognize that they were now in the eerily deserted streets of Hogsmeade.    
  
“We’re going to get you to the castle, Harry,” Remus spoke, obviously trying to reassure him, but his voice was strained.    
  
Harry tried to nod, but failed entirely, the pain almost unbearable.  He stumbled and Remus was forced to stop.  Harry could feel himself sweating, the cold air biting at the wetness on his skin mercilessly, his heart beating irregularly fast in his chest.  Visions from Voldemort assaulted him, dulling his sense of reality, and he struggled to clear his mind.  
  
“Harry,” Remus said beside his ear, but a cold fury that was not his own washed over him.  

He only had the time to look up at Remus’s concerned face, before blackness finally overtook him, and he was lost.  
  
He could no longer fight Voldemort’s mind as the visions took over.  When he next opened his eyes he could see everything with gruesome clarity, and his subconscious mind recoiled at the first sight that greeted him.    
  
Draco was naked and suspended above the familiar glowing green table as Voldemort stood over him, pressing his wand against the flesh of Draco’s sternum.  Harry could see Draco looking straight up at him, pure terror in his eyes as silent tears washed down the sides of his face.    
  
“Now you shall learn the price for betraying the Dark Lord,” Voldemort hissed and Harry felt the rage behind the words.  “You will not be given the mercy of death, but of a life in pain.”  
  
Draco stared up at him, trembling, his lips in a thin line, his face so pale it almost glowed white.  Fear painted his features until he seemed he might burst with it, and Harry’s subconscious recoiled in panic, scrambling desperately to do something, anything.  But then Draco took in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, pressing his lips thinly together.    
  
“I would betray you again and again,” Draco whispered, his eyes still closed, a small peaceful smile remarkably tugging at his lips.  “If it meant saving him from you.”  
  
Harry could feel Voldemort’s confusion at Draco’s turnabout, but that quickly transformed into cold fury. “Pity your beloved Harry Potter will not be returning the favor.”  
  
Harry felt the resistance as Voldemort’s wand pressed against Draco’s flesh and ripped it open.  Draco’s eyes snapped open in response, the smile gone as his body involuntarily spasmed with the pain.  The wand tip left a deep wound in its wake, blood seeping from its seam down the pale flesh of Draco’s chest.  

Harry’s heart clenched and he wished he could look away, but there was no way he could close his eyes.  He was forced to watch as Voldemort cut Draco’s body open past the skin and into the glistening innards as if he was a ripened fruit.  Draco writhed and gasped, closing his eyes every once and while with fresh tears sliding down into his hair.  He could tell Draco was working to remain as silent as possible, but Harry could feel Voldemort’s vindictive pleasure as blood pooled on the sickly green table below.    
  
Draco never screamed, and when next Voldemort looked at his face, Draco was staring straight back at him, biting his lip so hard that it bled freely between his teeth, his eyes defiant, albeit glazed with pain.  
  
“Your stubborn will is admirable,” Voldemort hissed.  “But the worst is yet to come.”  
  
Voldemort laughed, his wand moving further still, lower and deeper into Draco’s abdomen, pushing and pulling at flesh until it burst open, and Draco finally couldn’t hold it in any longer.  His voice was ragged as an agonized scream ripped from his throat.    
  
“DRACO!” Harry shouted, and he was sucked away, his eyes shooting open. Someone pushed at his shoulders as he struggled to sit up, sobbing and gasping, “Draco!”  
  
“Harry, calm down.  You’ve got to calm down. Poppy!”  
  
Harry was pushed back against something soft, but he continued struggling, taking in his surroundings with a darting gaze.  He stiffened when he realized he was in a bed in the hospital wing.  Remus was leaning over him, watching him worriedly and Madam Pomfrey bustled over, waving her wand.    
  
“He’s killing him,” Harry croaked, sweat breaking out over his skin, his heart racing.  “He’s killing him and I can’t –”  
  
“Shhh,” Remus murmured, pushing a hand against his forehead.  “He’s burning up, Poppy.”  
  
“A fever, is it?” Poppy waved her wand over Harry’s face as he breathed raggedly, tears falling down the sides of his face.  “Right.  It’s a potion and rest for you.”  
  
“Draco’s dying,” Harry repeated, trying to get them to understand his urgency.  He didn’t care about a fever.  That didn’t matter.  “He’s dying, and it’s all my fault.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey and Remus shared a look before she bustled away to get some potion.  
  
“The Order will save him, Harry.  Dumbledore’s there,” Remus murmured soothingly.  “All you can do is rest.”    
  
“Let me go. I need to…” Harry’s breath hitched, and he let out a frustrated half-sob. More tears slid down his hot cheeks and he blinked furiously.  Remus’s cool hand caressed his sticky forehead, soothing the burning scar as it throbbed.  
  
“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Remus murmured.    
  
“I should have known what was going on,” Harry retorted, shaking his head. “I should have stopped it somehow.  Draco was trapped.  He’d always been trapped, and I can’t save him.”  
  
“It’s no one’s fault but Voldemort’s,” Remus replied soothingly, and he stepped aside so that Madam Pomfrey could pull Harry’s head up.  
  
“Drink up, Mr. Potter.”  She pressed the cold edge of a goblet against Harry’s lips and forced him to swallow as she tipped it.  “Some dreamless sleep will do you good.”  
  
Harry tried to resist but the liquid found its way down his burning throat. Once he swallowed it all, it didn’t take long to take effect.  He tried to fight it, but his eyes felt heavy and slowly the pain and horror was wiped away, leaving only nothingness in its wake.  He stared up at Remus’s face as the man caressed his forehead once again, and that was the last thing he saw before darkness reclaimed him, pulling him into an endless void where he could no longer feel fear or guilt.  
  
“Harry!”  
  
Harry had just surfaced into consciousness, blinking blearily, before he found a weight pressing on top of him, bushy hair obscuring his line of sight.    
  
“Hermione?” Harry croaked, and she pulled back, tears in her eyes.  
  
“Oh Harry,” Hermione began, looking quite beside herself with worry. Harry just noticed Ron standing behind her, looking just as concerned.  “We came as soon as we could.  It’s been such a mess.  Are you all right?”  
  
It took Harry a bit to gather his scattered thoughts, but then memories came flooding back, and he sat bolt upright.  “Draco!  Where’s Draco?”  
  
“He’s at Grimmauld place,” Ron finally spoke and Hermione stepped away so that Harry could see him properly.    
  
“Grimmauld place,” Harry repeated shakily, relief dulling his panic somewhat.  “What happened?  Is he all right?”  
  
“We don’t know,” Hermione replied apologetically.  “We were only able to glean so much from Mr. Weasley when he floo-called the Burrow.  We were all so worried and he was in a rush to get back to the Order.”  
  
“Did he say anything about what happened to the Death Eaters at the manor?” Harry asked.  
  
“Dad said most of them were caught,” Ron replied.  “Some killed.”  
  
“And Lucius?” Harry questioned, a dark part of him hoping that the man was among the dead.  
  
“In custody,” Ron answered.  “The sod will probably be sent to Azkaban any day now.”  
  
“And Voldemort?”  
  
Ron shook his head.  “He escaped.”  
  
Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.  “Your dad didn’t tell you anything more about Draco?”  
  
“Dad said that Malfoy was a difficult case, normal treatment wasn’t working, and they couldn’t bring him to St. Mungo’s because it might not be safe,” Ron stated. “But he said Snape might know how to fix it.  He just needs to brew the potion.”  
  
Harry took in a shaky breath.  “I was so sure he was…I saw it and –”  
  
“We know, Harry,” Hermione shushed him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “Remus told us when we arrived.  It’s all so horrible.”  
  
Harry pushed a trembling hand through his hair, drawing in a shaky breath.    
  
“I’m sorry, mate.”  
  
Harry looked up and was met with Ron appearing truly contrite, his lips pulled down into a frown and his brown eyes sorrowful.  However, Harry felt guilt rise up in him at how he’d treated Ron before the ball.  Ron had been right all along and Harry just hadn’t wanted to accept that he could have been.  He could barely meet Ron’s eyes as the boy spoke.  
  
“Remus told us that Snape had found out Blaise Zabini was the spy, and he had been trying to get more information out of him under the guise of working with him before you disappeared,” Ron stated, watching Harry carefully.  Harry’s eyes widened as the information sunk in, and Ron continued.  “When he realized you and Malfoy were missing, Snape promptly forced Veritaserum on Blaise and found out what he was doing.  That’s how the Order found out where you were.”  
  
“Blaise Zabini was the spy?”  Harry repeated incredulously, but then something niggled at his mind. “But Draco had given me the ring, the portkey.”  
  
“Blaise had figured out about Draco’s relationship with you before anyone else,” Hermione replied, her eyebrows knitting.  “He’d grown suspicious when he saw Draco leave every night and he’d followed him to the Room of Requirement, entering with him under a Disillusionment charm.  At some point, he informed Lucius of his discovery, who in turn informed Voldemort.”  
  
Harry suddenly remembered his vision from earlier in the year, Lucius informing Voldemort of something one of his spies had learned.    
  
“Ignus Mortis,” Harry stated, understanding dawning upon him. “The Death Flame.  That was Blaise.”  
  
Hermione nodded, clearly remembering it too.  “Voldemort was furious at first with the news.  He had apparently planned to Mark Draco as a Death Eater during the Winter Hols and this was the ultimate betrayal, but Blaise told Lucius that Draco could be planning on bringing you down himself, and if not, Blaise told him that he would make sure that Draco did not betray Voldemort.”  
  
“So Draco hadn’t been in on it from the start?” Harry asked, although the idea that Draco could have been a spy stung bitterly.    
  
“No, Harry,” Hermione replied soothingly.  “Blaise had confessed to Snape that he had been working alone.”  
  
“But why would Blaise tell Lucius and Voldemort the opposite?” Harry questioned.  “What would he have to gain by making Draco look like he was in on the plot?”  
  
“I suspect he was trying to save Draco’s life,” Hermione replied.  “After everything he’d done.  Blaise was trying to give Draco the benefit of the doubt.”  
  
“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Ron exclaimed.  “Zabini had taken that photograph and sent it to the _Prophet_.  Why would he do that if he’d wanted to save Malfoy’s life?”  
  
“In a twisted way, that could have also been a move to keep Draco safe,” Hermione stated ponderously.  “He could have sent out that photograph to force Draco’s hand.  He could have done it to let Draco know that someone was watching him without having to reveal that he was the spy, and it would give Draco the opportunity to choose his allegiances.  Blaise also could have told Lucius that Draco was in on the plan to make the relationship with Harry public.  That they had both planned it together in order to further alienate Harry from his friends and allies.”  
  
Harry inadvertently caught Ron’s eye.  Hermione stared between them, her brows knitted with worry, but Harry’s thoughts moved on.    
  
Lucius’s words to Draco in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor surfaced in his memories.  
  
 _“It seems you were telling the truth and this has all been your plan from the very start.  Despite your initial duplicity, the Dark Lord will forgive you with this offering.”_  
  
“That would make sense,” Harry eventually spoke, deciding to skip the uncomfortable subject of his earlier disagreements with Ron entirely. Ron appeared visibly relieved when Harry continued.  “Lucius seemed to think Draco had been planning it all along, although he had been unsure at first.”  
  
Hermione nodded. “After that, Lucius most likely offered a way for Draco to prove himself further in order to ensure that what Blaise had said was true.”  
  
“And Draco chose to betray me,” Harry muttered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  
Hermione sighed, and rubbed a thumb along his shoulder soothingly.  “It would seem so, but in the end, he couldn’t go through with it, could he?  He’d nearly sacrificed himself to save your life.”  
  
Harry felt pained as he remembered Draco being sliced open on that green table like a piece of meat.  “I should have seen it.  I should have protected him, and he couldn’t even trust me to do that.  He hadn’t trusted me at all.”  
  
“He was scared,” Ron said, and Harry stared at him.  Ron looked away uncomfortably.  “We all do stupid things when we’re afraid.”  
  
Harry caught the double-meaning of Ron’s words.  He knew this was Ron’s way of apologizing, and he appreciated more than he could say.  He didn’t want this discomfort between them to go on.  He wanted his best mate back.  
  
“That’s true.”  He sent Ron a small apologetic smile and Ron’s tense stance visibly relaxed.  “Love can make us quite stupid as well.”  
  
Ron smiled, and Hermione’s eyes misted up a bit although she was smiling too.     
  
“I brought this down from our dorm,” Ron said, and he pulled Harry’s wand from his robe pocket.  “Thought you might want it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry replied as he took it. He instantly felt the comforting warmth of the wood between his fingers, and felt stupid for the nth time in the last twenty-four hours that he hadn’t had it with him from the start.  “Thanks.”  
  
Ron just nodded with a small smile.  
  
“What time is it?” Harry asked.  “How long has it been since I got here?”  
  
“It’s Christmas day, Harry,” Hermione replied.  “You’ve been asleep for about six hours and it’s five in the evening now.”  
  
“And you still haven’t heard about Draco’s condition?” Harry questioned, tensing up at the implications.  
  
“They rescued him three hours ago,” Hermione replied.  “It was a difficult battle.  And as Ron said, Snape is probably still working on the potion.”  
  
“I want to see Draco,” Harry murmured and he moved to get up.  
  
“I’m not sure you can, Harry,” Hermione said cautiously, as she moved out of his way to let him get out of the bed.  
  
“I’m going to Grimmauld Place,” Harry stated in a way that he hoped would head off any disagreement as he looked around for his robes and shoes.     
  
Just at that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled toward his bed, looking a bit harried.  “Mr. Potter, I don’t recall allowing you to get out of your bed.”  
  
“I’m fine, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry stated tersely, feeling slightly guilty but not wanting to deal with her mother-henning.  
  
“I’ll let you know if you are or not,” Madam Pomfrey reprimanded sternly, bustling to push him steadily back onto his bed as she pulled out her wand.  
  
Harry reluctantly let her guide him backward until he was sitting on the mattress.  She waved her wand about.  When she was done, she stepped back and eyed him critically.

“It seems you are as healthy as could be expected,” Madam Promfrey stated, but she went on.  “However, I am under strict orders from Dumbledore to keep you here until he returns.”  
  
“But –” Harry began to retort, but the man in question entered the hospital wing and walked toward them.  
  
“Harry, how are you feeling?” Dumbledore asked gently, and Madam Pomfrey stood aside, beside Hermione and Ron.  
  
“I’m fine,” Harry blurted, before the slight shock of Dumbledore’s arrival wore off.  “How’s Draco?  Did Snape’s potion work?”  
  
“Ah, so I see you were made aware of Mr. Malfoy’s precarious situation,” Dumbledore nodded and glanced over at Hermione and Ron who both looked a bit sheepish, although Dumbledore didn’t appear accusing, merely omnipotent.  “Professor Snape’s potion has indeed worked.  Draco’s wounds are healing.”  
  
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and his fists unclenched, his profound sense of guilt relieving slightly.  “But what did Voldemort do to him?  How come his wounds wouldn’t heal?”

“Voldemort has developed a new type of hex that allows the caster to cut the victim deeply without killing them.  It would also make the flesh resistant to normal healing techniques.”  
  
“Why would he do that?” Ron asked gruffly, his expression revealing the horror he felt.  
  
“Then the victim would never be able to heal himself, even if he had a wand or escaped,” Hermione replied, looking slightly ill herself.  “It would be the ultimate, irreversible punishment.  Infinite pain without the mercy of death.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded, his expression appropriately grave.  
  
“But, how did Snape know how to cure it?” Harry questioned.  
  
“Ah, that was all your doing,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes warming as he smiled kindly.    
  
“My doing?” Harry repeated incredulously, his brows knitting with confusion.  
  
“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded.  “When Voldemort inadvertently let you into his mind earlier this year, you saw the results of his new hex.  After Professor Snape learned of the details, he researched its properties and developed a potion that could potentially combat the effects.”  
  
“But that’s very little information to go by,” Hermione said, appearing awed.  “Surely, Professor Snape must’ve had to garner more evidence than that.”  
  
“Well stated, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore agreed.  “Professor Snape had indeed run his own investigations into the matter, gaining what information he needed. However, without your vision, Harry, Professor Snape would have never known to look.  You have ostensibly saved Draco’s life.”  
  
Harry stared at him and a lump developed in his throat so that he could not speak.  He looked down at his lap and hid his face from view.    
  
Dumbledore watched him silently for a moment, before Harry felt a warm hand fall comfortingly onto his shoulders.    
  
“I will take you to him now.  If you’d like,” Dumbledore spoke softly, his tone gentle.  
  
Harry merely nodded gratefully, not trusting himself to do anything else.


	10. What is Left

Entering Grimmauld place with Dumbledore was like walking into the Ministry after a declaration of war. Maps cluttered the walls, and Harry could just see tiny dots with labels moving around on the yellowed parchment. Order members clogged the halls, walking from room to room, huddling together and speaking in rushed voices. They only went silent and nodded when Dumbledore walked past, their eyes sliding to Harry’s scar before taking in the rest of his face. Harry tried not to flinch. He felt entirely too raw and exposed to deal with that kind of scrutiny. All he wanted was to visit Draco, although even that desire carried a bit of tension. If he saw Draco, he would have to see the state of him, and he didn’t know if he was quite ready to face that.

Ron and Hermione entered the old house behind him and Harry tried not to tense when Ron placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. The shock of the touch didn’t last long and Harry relaxed into it, appreciating the quiet comfort and support Ron was trying to provide. He was very glad to have his best friends with him as he endured the stares of everyone else.

They passed multiple rooms before they made it to the base of the stairs, where Lupin greeted them.

“Where are my parents?” Ron asked, and Harry suddenly realized he hadn’t seen one red head in the house.

“Your father’s at the Ministry, trying to get things in order.” Lupin shared a look with Dumbledore and Harry knew Arthur was probably trying to get in contact with allies. “And your mother is at the Burrow with your siblings.”

Ron nodded and Harry noticed Ron’s hand slide into Hermione’s.

“Severus has completed his treatment?” Dumbledore asked Lupin.

Lupin nodded. “Just now.”

“Then I will take Harry to him,” Dumbledore replied serenely and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulders to guide him.

Harry looked back as Ron, Hermione and Lupin stayed behind, watching him with barely concealed concern. Harry tried not to feel irritated, but in the absence of that he could only feel dread at what he would find in Draco’s room, and he knew his apprehension was obvious to everyone.

He walked beside Dumbledore in silence, only the creaking of the stairs beneath their feet cutting into the musty air of the house. Finally, Dumbledore stopped in front of a door that looked like any other, worn and cracked and gray with grime that had sunken into the wood. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and turned the handle.  

When Harry walked into the room alone, the sun was dying outside. Red-orange light glowed through the two windows and casted shafts upon Draco’s bed, making it look as if it was under a crimson spot light. Harry searched Draco’s form on the bed. He was lying still beneath the covers, facing away from Harry and breathing deeply in sleep. Something tight in Harry’s gut untangled a bit in relief.

Harry moved to the other side of the mattress to peer at Draco’s face. He stiffened at the tear tracks he could see winding through the left-over grime on the boy’s cheeks. Carefully, Harry kneeled beside the bed and placed a hand on the warm skin, rubbing along the dried tracks with his thumb and pushing some of Draco’s hair out of his face.

Draco stirred after only a moment, his eye lids sliding open slowly, slits of silver gleaming in the red light. Harry watched Draco reach awareness and recognize him, but Draco’s gray eyes quickly closed as if in pain, his mouth pulling into a frown.

“Hey,” Harry murmured, for want of something better to say. His voice was suspiciously scratchy.

Draco opened his eyes again, letting out a slow breath, but the wariness did not leave his expression. “Potter.”

“How are you feeling?” Harry questioned, trying to ignore Draco’s discomfort and thoughts of the angry red gash he knew Draco must be sporting all the way down his midsection, from his clavicle to his groin.

“Like I should be dead,” Draco croaked, and he sounded as if he might want to be. He couldn’t quite meet Harry’s gaze.

“I’m glad you aren’t,” Harry stated pointedly and he took Draco’s hand with his free one.

Draco stared at him, and then at their linked hands, his brows knit together. “Don’t be so dramatic, Potter.”

“It’s true,” Harry replied, knowing that Draco was trying to derail him. He wished Draco would open up to him, but even now his expression was guarded.

Draco stared at him searchingly, before he spoke with a broken voice. “How can you say that after everything I’ve done?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Harry replied with conviction, daring him to disagree, but he could see the pain flashing in Draco’s eyes.

“Stop being an idiot. You were right about my having a choice and I chose the side of cowardice,” Draco retorted, his once feeble voice gaining strength. “I deserve to die. I was ready to let him –”

“Don’t you dare say that, Draco,” Harry cut him off and leaned in closer, Draco merely snapped his mouth shut and watched him morosely. “You saved my life in the end, and that’s what counts.”

“It was almost too late,” Draco whispered and self-hatred was etched into his expression, his voice hitching. “I’d been about to betray you, and – ”

“I know,” Harry stated soothingly. “I know about Blaise and your father and how they pressured you.”

“Blaise?” Draco questioned incredulously. “ _He_ was the spy?”

“You didn’t know?” Harry asked, surprised.

Draco shook his head. “No. I knew it was a student in Slytherin, but beyond that I could never be certain. My father took great care not to divulge the spy’s identity in his correspondence.”

“What did your father say to you in those letters?” Harry asked, his voice hardening with the fury he had for the man.

“He instructed me to prove myself,” Draco stated with a self-effacing frown and he looked down at their linked hands again. “His sources had alerted him I had been working for the Dark Lord all along, and if I could prove this was true, he told me I would escape execution, and be rewarded. I only had to follow through with the plan.”

Harry went silent, furious with Lucius and Voldemort beyond measure, his shoulders tensed and he bit his lip hard as he glared at the bedsheets.

Draco seemed to take Harry’s silence and angry expression in entirely the wrong way, because he let out a quick breath and croaked miserably, “It’s entirely expected that you should hate me. What I’ve done is inexcusable and weak and I deserve to –”

But Harry didn’t want to hear it, and he moved forward to press his lips against Draco’s in a hard kiss. Draco’s breath hitched and his body stiffened, but his warm mouth almost immediately softened against Harry’s, his free hand sliding into Harry’s hair as his fingers firmly laced through the locks. Harry’s hands found Draco’s cheeks and caressed the warming flesh with his thumbs. Warmth spread throughout Harry’s chest, his lips tingling with every stroke of Draco’s tongue. This was what he wanted, and he’d almost lost it.

“You did what you thought you had to do, Draco,” Harry soothed against Draco’s lips.

Draco went rigid and pulled away, his gray eyes closing off and looking inward. “No, that’s just it. I didn’t have to. I could have –”

Harry shook his head. “No, I should have protected you somehow; caught on to Blaise before this happened. I said I would.”

“Always the Gryffindor hero,” Draco admonished, his mouth stretched into a humorless sneer.

“Draco, I –“ Harry began, but Draco cut him off.    

“You can’t save everyone, Harry. Even if you’d like to,” Draco maintained, although his fingers absently massaged Harry’s scalp as he looked down at the sheets. “And I’m not the easiest person to protect.”

“That may be true,” Harry admitted reluctantly. He didn’t miss the way Draco’s eyes darkened in response. “But you’re alive now, and I won’t let anything like this happen again.”

“I nearly _killed_ you,” Draco retorted, and he glared at Harry. “I never deserved your protection. You were better off leaving me well alone. Your worst mistake was trusting me.”

Harry sighed and he bit his lip in thought as Draco stared at him obstinately, pain and guilt tightening his pale features.

“You know, I felt so stupid when I was locked in that dungeon.”

Draco tensed. Harry could feel it in their interlocked hands even if he couldn’t see the tightening of Draco’s shoulders.

Draco looked away, but Harry continued. “I was angry with you. Ron had warned me before the ball that you were up to something, but I hadn’t listened. I hadn’t let myself believe that you would betray me; I hadn’t wanted to.”

Draco’s eyes closed and his hand slid away from the nape of Harry’s neck. He looked utterly defeated.

“I thought that you were stronger than that, and that you really loved me – that love was enough,” Harry murmured. “But in that dungeon, I remembered what you’d said to me behind Hagrid’s hut, that love was blind, and I realized that I had even ignored warnings from you. Even you had been trying to tell me, and because of that, I couldn’t hate you. I could only hate myself.”

“You utter idiot,” Draco croaked, and he was covering his eyes with a shaking hand now, his chin trembling.

“You’re right,” Harry replied. He knew the truth of it and he didn’t wish to deny it.

“Just shut up,” Draco snapped, although his broken voice wasn’t cold and he kept his eyes hidden beneath his hand. “I’m the one to blame, not you. I’m the one who made the wrong choice. I’m the one whose cowardice nearly destroyed the one obstacle in the Dark Lord’s path.”

Harry shook his head. “I saw what happened to you when Voldemort…”

Harry’s voice trailed off and Draco pulled his hand away, his conspicuously reddened eyes widening. “How?”

“Through my connection with him,” Harry replied, and he looked away. “When he gets angry or emotional, I can see into his mind, see what he sees.”

Draco was silent and when Harry looked back at him, Draco was simply staring. Harry couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if he was disgusted or intrigued or simply shocked by the news.

“When you told him that you would do it again,” Harry continued, his voice rough with emotion as he remembered. “I-I thought you were the bravest person I had ever seen, and I was so afraid that you would die.”

Draco’s eyes widened further, and Harry held his gaze. Then Draco blinked, and his expression opened so profoundly that Harry realized just how guarded Draco had been up until then. The interplay of emotion in Draco’s eyes was overwhelming and Harry’s chest tightened painfully in response.

“It’s true that you’d made the wrong decisions because you were afraid,” Harry pressed, hoping Draco understood. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you made the bravest choice when it counted. You saved my life, knowing that you would most likely die. How does that make you a coward?”

“I _was_ afraid.” Draco pressed obstinately, but then he looked away uncertainly. “But, just as Voldemort had begun to cut me open, I thought that at least you would live. At least in the end, I had saved you. I had been ready to die, knowing that for all my faults, I had done the right thing in the end. I had welcomed it. I would have deserved it, Harry. You have no right to berate yourself over the choices I’ve made.”

“No.” Harry shook his head, wondering if Draco would ever be able to forgive himself. “It’s all Voldemort’s fault. He’s the one to blame. No one should have had to go through what you and I have. It’s all bollocksed up.”

Draco sighed, watching Harry for a moment, and Harry could see Draco’s will crumbling. He didn’t look nearly as burdened by guilt as he had moments before, and Harry was glad of it. Draco closed his eyes and Harry gently reclaimed his lips. Draco responded easily, pressing back against the soft flesh as Harry directed the kiss.

When Harry pulled back, Draco’s fingers were idly caressing his shoulder. Harry felt as though something fundamental between them had shifted. There was a level of affection in the way they looked at one another and Harry realized that this may have been one of the first times he could truly see how Draco felt without anything getting in the way.  

“I don’t think the Room of Requirement was malfunctioning,” Harry murmured, realizing it at nearly the moment he’d said it. “Blaise got in because he followed you in, not because he actually wished for anything, and when you think about our wishes, aren’t they really the same? Defense and sanctuary. We were both looking for protection.”

Draco’s lips went up a bit in a wry smile, showing his first sign of amusement in days. “So you’re saying the Room conspired to send me a knight in Gryffindor armor.”

Harry softly pressed his lips to Draco’s again, wiping away the smirk. “I suppose.”

But Draco was frowning when Harry moved back. “It almost hadn’t been enough.”

The words stung, but Harry could tell Draco wasn’t being accusatory, merely honest.

“I wish I could have gotten you out of there sooner,” Harry stated bitterly, overwhelmed by his own shortcomings.

“It’s over now.” Draco shook his head and his fingers carded through the black hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. “You need to stop punishing yourself for things you can’t control.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” Harry pressed. “I will protect you.”

Draco’s expression pinched into one of incredulity. “You’re hopeless.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

Draco’s eyes were warm, even if the irony was thick in his voice. “ _My hero_.”

Harry chuckled, knowing that Draco was attempting to divert a heartfelt moment with derision. “Always.”

Draco’s mouth curved up into a soft, reluctant smile.

“Can you move?” Harry asked.

“Depends,” Draco replied, looking a bit unsure. “What are you asking?”

“I want to lie with you,” Harry stated unabashedly.

Draco stiffened a bit, but then he blinked and seemed to compose himself, although his cheeks were noticeably flushed. “All right.”

Harry waited for Draco to budge over on the mattress, before he climbed in beside him. Harry lay on his side, facing Draco and the other surprised him by turning away, pressing his back against Harry’s chest. Harry shifted and draped an arm over Draco’s torso, burrowing his head between Draco’s pale neck and shoulder as the boy settled back onto the pillow. Harry took in a deep breath through his nose, taking in the calming and familiar scent of Draco alive in his arms.

“Are you all right?” Harry murmured with concern. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No,” Draco shook his head a bit, and he pulled out his left hand to take Harry’s, pressing them both against his chest. “Professor Snape tells me the scarring will last, but the pain is gone.”

Harry could feel how unnaturally hot the raised skin under his hand was and he tried not to imagine the wound with little success. “I’m so sorry, Draco.”

“Don’t be,” Draco stated a bit more forcefully, and his fingers squeezed where they interlocked with Harry’s. “I told you to stop punishing yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry whispered and he kissed Draco’s shoulder. “I still feel horrible.”

Draco sighed melodramatically. “We’re a pair of masochists.”

Harry chuckled ruefully. “It’s a match made in heaven.”

“Or hell,” Draco added, but he was smiling, and Harry kissed him on the neck.

“Can you ever trust me?” Harry asked, his lips trembling as he mouthed the words against Draco’s warm skin.

Draco was silent for so long, Harry was beginning to believe that he would never get an answer, but then Draco spoke, his voice conspicuously rough. “I do already. I was just too afraid to allow it before. That was the price of my cowardice, I suppose. One of many. The real question is, how can you trust me?”

Harry tightened his hold around Draco and buried his face into the crook of his neck. “After what you did, I can’t _not_ trust you.”

He ran his fingers lightly down the raised, unnaturally warm skin of Draco’s healing wound for emphasis. Draco shivered a bit, but he didn’t stop him. In fact, he tightened his hand even more around Harry’s.  

“What now?” Draco asked into the silence.

“I want you to stay with me,” Harry replied without thought, the words springing from somewhere deep inside of him where no doubts existed.

Draco was silent for a moment, but his thumb caressed Harry’s hand.

“All right,” Draco responded, although he sounded a bit sad as he continued. “I’ve nowhere else to go anyway.”

Harry kissed Draco’s neck, realizing that Draco was practically an orphan now. He brooded over this for a while before he heard Draco’s breathing even out and deepen in sleep. Harry tucked himself further against the curves of Draco’s body and followed soon afterward, lulled by the sound of his bedmate’s breathing as the light from the window faded into the cool blue-black of night.

When Harry next awoke, it was to Snape’s arrival late the next day. Harry thought about uncurling from around the still slumbering Draco, but he was too tired, and at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to particularly care what Snape thought about it. Snape sneered at him but mercifully didn’t comment on their compromising position. He merely motioned for Harry to get out of the bed so he could administer more of the restorative draught to Draco. Harry reluctantly shook Draco’s shoulder before removing himself, watching as Draco sat up groggily and swallowed the goblet full of potion Snape offered, grimacing heartily at the taste. Snape waited dispassionately until he drank every last drop, then he took the goblet and billowed out of the room without another word.

Harry immediately slid back into the bed and Draco turned so that he could rest his head against Harry’s chest. Harry wrapped an arm around Draco’s torso and caressed his warm back with his fingertips. This was the first time Harry had held Draco for such a long period of time, and he found it difficult to imagine ever letting go. It was ludicrous given that they obviously couldn’t stay in that bed forever. Although, after everything they’d gone through and everything they still faced, he certainly wished they could.

They lay silent in each other’s arms for hours, content, even ignoring their empty stomachs. However, the door opened again eventually and Remus stepped into the room with a tray of food.

“How are you feeling, Draco?” Remus asked mildly, although as his gaze slid conspicuously between Draco and Harry. Harry could tell he was doing his best not to comment on their closeness.

Draco pulled away and Harry reluctantly slackened his hold, allowing the boy to sit up in the bed. “I’m fine. Thank you, Professor.”

“I am no longer your professor, Draco. Please, call me Remus,” he replied with a mild smile and he indicated the tray of food in his hands with a glance. “Lunch has been served downstairs. I thought you two might like some.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Harry replied, trying not to sound ungrateful at the man’s interruption as his stomach growled traitorously.

Remus placed the tray on the bed over their legs and waited for them to pick up the sandwiches and take a few bites. Harry glanced up at him questioningly, wiping a few stray crumbs from his chin, when he noticed that the man had yet to depart.

Remus explained himself. “Dumbledore wants to see you, Harry, when you’re done. He’ll be downstairs in the room with the Black family tree.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, wondering what Dumbledore wanted, but guessing that it had something to do with Voldemort.

Remus left and Harry found himself eating quickly, wanting to get it over with so that he could find out what news Dumbledore had for him, and ask him more questions of his own. Draco ate at a slower pace beside him, but he didn’t speak. When Harry finished the soup, leaving only crumbs where his sandwich once sat, he turned to Draco and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” Draco stated in response, although he looked a bit bereft.

“I won’t be long,” Harry promised, and then he got out of bed. He left, just glancing back at Draco as the boy watched him, until the door closed behind him.  

Harry went down the stairs and he could hear people moving and chatting distantly in other rooms of the house, but he didn’t encounter anyone else until he found Dumbledore in the room with the tapestry. Dumbledore was sitting at an old mahogany desk by a large window, scribbling upon a parchment with a large crimson feathered quill. Harry lingered at the door until Dumbledore glanced up at him and smiled.

“Harry, thank you for coming.”

Harry nodded, stepping further into the room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Dumbledore conjured a chair and gestured for Harry to take a seat. Harry did and the parchment on Dumbledore’s desk immediately rolled up, binding itself with a crimson and gold ribbon.

“Tea, Mr. Potter?” A kettle and two cups materialized upon the desk and Dumbledore watched him expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, more out of a compulsion to be polite than any real desire to drink.

For want of something better to do, Harry took a sip the moment the warm cup was in his hand.

Dumbledore smiled at him benignly. “How is young Draco?”

“He’s fine,” Harry replied, not really knowing what more he should say, but it seemed to be enough because Dumbledore just nodded.

Dumbledore remained silent, enjoying his tea. Harry wondered if he should wait for the Headmaster to speak, but when Dumbledore looked content to sip from his cup, Harry put his own down. “You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded, his cup vanishing into thin air, and his expression turned serious. “I think it is time you knew the truth of what you face, Harry.”

Harry didn’t know what the man meant, because he was already aware of the prophecy, but Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts.

“I do not speak, of course, of the prophecy, Harry. Although, it is a part of it,” Dumbledore conceded. “I speak of the means to the end. You will need to know this in order to truly defeat Voldemort.”

“Sir?”

“Tell me, Harry,” Dumbledore sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers consideringly. “Are you aware of the term, Horcrux?”

Harry sat and listened as Dumbledore explained Voldemort’s twisted foray into the dark, forbidden magic of Horcruxes, and by the end he was fully aware of what he was expected to do in the time he had left. But far from feeling burdened, he was no longer plagued by fear and doubt. Finally, he knew a path to Voldemort’s destruction and his heart hardened in determination as he remembered just how much he had already sacrificed at the madman’s hands. He thought of Draco and burned to make Voldemort pay.

However, this triumphant feeling soon disappeared when Dumbledore next spoke.

“I hope this information will be enough. I have imparted all that I know,” Dumbledore stated serenely. “I will be leaving you shortly and I wish for you to be prepared.”

Harry frowned in confusion. There was a troubling finality to Dumbledore’s tone that set his nerves on edge. “Leaving?”

Dumbledore raised his right hand and Harry gasped, not having realized before that Dumbledore had been favoring his left; writing with and holding his wand in his left hand even though he had never done so before. Dumbledore couldn’t possibly use his right hand anymore. It was blackened and dead looking as if it was being eaten away from the inside.

Dumbledore looked untroubled as he too gazed at the afflicted appendage, but when he looked back at Harry it was sympathetic, as though Harry was the one who needed comforting.

“This curse will eventually spread to the rest of me and I will not survive,” Dumbledore stated matter-of-factly as if only discussing Quidditch scores.

Harry gaped at him, filling with horror that he attempted to temper. When he spoke next, his voice was hoarse. “How…” _How did it happen?_ But his throat constricted around the question and he blurted, “How long?”

“Severus tells me I will have until the end of next term,” Dumbledore replied softly, finally lowering his withered hand onto his lap.

Harry blinked a bit, his eyes stinging threateningly. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He’d always thought Dumbledore would be there. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Dumbledore would die, which he realized was a stupid assumption. Dumbledore had always been old, ancient even, but his power and strength had hidden the fragility of his years. And this curse was unusually potent. Harry knew instinctively that it couldn’t have been cast by anyone but a very powerful witch or wizard.

“Did Voldemort do this?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice even. Dumbledore looked so calm even now.

“In a sense,” Dumbledore replied. “A piece of his soul got the better of me.”

So it was a Horcrux. Harry nodded jerkily, any confidence he may have had receding.

Dumbledore seemed to notice this, because his eyes softened and he placed his good hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I was afflicted only because I was a fool, Harry. I trust you will fare better.”

Harry wondered how Dumbledore could say that with a straight face. Harry was hardly Dumbledore’s equal in power, knowledge, and experience. Everyone knew that. He couldn’t imagine Dumbledore falling prey to anything that Harry couldn’t. After all, look what had happened only two days ago.

“I don’t know if I…” Harry began, but he couldn’t speak further. Something was lodged in his throat and he swallowed instead.

“You can,” Dumbledore spoke gently.

“How?” Harry asked, incredulous. He frowned at Dumbledore, trying to see if the old man was having him on, but Dumbledore appeared only sober and kind.

“You need only trust in yourself and your friends, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “Your allies will be your greatest asset. Although I must ask that you keep the knowledge of the Horcruxes limited to a treasured few. When it is all over, I fear the knowledge would only serve to entice others down that ill-fated path in search of immortality.”

“Who should I tell?”

“I will leave that to your considerable judgment,” Dumbledore replied with a soft smile.

Harry thought for a bit. “Ron and Hermione?”

“Admirable choices.” Dumbledore nodded.

“And Draco,” Harry concluded, no longer questioning. He knew he’d want him to know, and he could use his help. Perhaps Draco, being a Slytherin and the son of a Death Eater, would have insight that Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn’t have. And he trusted Draco unequivocally.  

“I think you have chosen wisely,” Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling again.

“No one else,” Harry stated.

“That would be best,” Dumbledore affirmed.

Harry nodded, sitting back in his chair and rubbing at his scar absently. He thought of how they all would react. Hermione would immediately worry and bury herself in research. Ron would be just as concerned, but he’d hide it. And Draco, he’d complain about the work ahead of them, but secretly enjoy Harry’s implicit trust. The real test was seeing how well they could all work together. He would need their support in the search and battle to come, in any form he could get it.

“In the coming term, I would like you to join me in my office regularly,” Dumbledore stated, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “I think you will benefit from walking through some of my memories. It is time that you got to know Tom Riddle.”

Harry nodded, trying to keep his eyes from darting to Dumbledore’s shriveled hand. It would be best to try to ignore it for now. He couldn’t afford to be worried about Dumbledore. He knew he had to start focusing on the task that awaited him. He had to win.

When Harry made it back up to Draco’s room, the sun was dying again. There was a tray full of food at Draco’s bedside but it looked untouched, and the boy was reading something from an old tome. Draco noticed him when he entered, put the book beside the dinner tray, and made room so that Harry could slip beneath the covers.

Harry took off his shirt and Draco lay his head upon his shoulder as Harry wrapped an arm around Draco’s back, sliding his fingertips along the fine blond hairs on his arm.

“Not hungry?” Harry asked softly against Draco’s hair.

“Professor Snape’s potion isn’t the most amicable with my stomach,” Draco replied. “How did it go?”

“Dumbledore told me how to defeat Voldemort,” Harry replied bluntly, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling as vague shadows moved upon it.

Draco sat up a bit and looked down at him. “How?”

“Cursed objects, pieces of his soul,” Harry began, knowing that he wasn’t making much sense, but he didn’t intend to at the moment. His mind was still reeling with it. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, along with Ron and Hermione. It has to be a secret between us.”

Draco stared at him, his silver eyes searching him, and Harry held his gaze. Eventually, Draco laid back down to rest his head upon Harry’s chest. Harry’s skin twitched where he could feel Draco’s eyelashes fluttering. “Are you afraid?”

Harry was a bit startled by the question and he clenched his hand against Draco’s forearm, but he couldn’t lie. “Yes. A bit.”

“Good,” Draco stated. “It means you’ve at least the sense to survive.”

“Doubted that, have you?” Harry questioned, but somehow, he felt lighter than he had since Dumbledore’s news.

Draco let out a short breath of mock laughter. “A Gryffindor with survival instincts is like a Hufflepuff with a back-bone. One hears rumors, but neither truly exist.”

“Good thing the sorting hat wanted to put me into Slytherin then,” Harry quipped lightly.

Draco stilled. “What?”

Draco turned in his arms and Harry waited until the boy was looking incredulously down at him. Harry just shrugged as much as he could in that position, the horror he had once felt at the hat’s words no longer plaguing him. “The hat wanted to put me into Slytherin House. Said I could be great there. I told it not to put me there. So it put me in Gryffindor.”

“You _told_ it not to put you in Slytherin?” Draco repeated.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, thinking back. “Actually I have you to thank for that. You’d completely ruined the house for me. Any house with you in it had to be the worst.”

Draco scowled, and he ignored Harry’s playful smile. “I don’t believe it. All those years, I’d been mocking a Slytherin in Gryffindor clothing.”

“Seems a bit of a waste now, doesn’t it?” Harry nodded sagely. “Could have spent a lot less time fighting and a lot more time shagging.”

Draco pouted, but his eyes shone with amusement when Harry wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “Yes, a pity, that.”

“It seems all we can do now is make up for it with the time we have left.” Harry leered, his hand finding Draco’s backside and squeezing.

Draco sucked in a breath then smirked down at Harry predatorily. Harry’s cock twitched in appreciation, but Draco chose that moment to sit up to straddle Harry’s waist and the wound was prominently displayed on his bare torso, an angry red scar travelling from Draco’s pale sternum to the waist band of his pants. Harry’s gaze caught on it, and Draco stilled.

Harry swallowed, remembering the agonized way Draco had screamed when the wound had first been cut open.

Draco leaned forward and took the wrist of Harry’s free hand. Harry watched in tense silence as Draco pressed Harry’s palm against the top of the scar. Just like before, it was unnaturally warm, practically burning his hand. Draco slid Harry’s hand further down along the wound until it was pressing against the scar on his stomach. Harry was finding it hard to breathe and he closed his eyes as images of that flesh being ripped open assaulted him.

Draco leaned down and kissed him. It was light and slow and Harry’s hand gratefully slid away from the scar and down on the mattress, clasped tightly in Draco’s. Draco pulled away slowly, giving Harry time to blink away the insistent stinging in his eyes.

Draco sat up and looked at him, and Harry tried not to avoid looking at the scar again, but it was difficult.

“I want you to make love to me, Harry.”

Harry stiffened. “What?”

“It’s all right,” Draco stated, and he ran a hand down the length of his scar. “I won’t break, and I need…I want…”

Draco trailed off, looking uncomfortable, and, in a flash of enlightenment, Harry understood. Draco needed to know he wouldn’t break as much as Harry did. He needed confirmation that Voldemort’s torture hadn’t damaged him beyond repair, and he needed Harry to prove it to him.

Harry sat up slowly and Draco shifted back a bit so that he was perched comfortably on Harry’s lap. Draco watched him behind the curtain of his loose bangs, waiting for Harry to make the first move, his pale chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

Harry forced himself to look down at the scar. He knew he couldn’t ignore it any longer. It was a part of Draco now and it was something painful that they both had to acknowledge before moving on.

Harry leaned forward tentatively and pressed his lips lightly to the warm flesh. Draco’s breath hitched above him, his fingers clenching possessively, encouragingly, into Harry’s shoulders. Harry moved down, trailing kisses along the scar for as far as he could reach. The warm skin burned his lips, but he imagined them cooling and soothing it in turn. Draco breathed in an irregular rhythm, his fingers kneading Harry’s shoulder muscles as they clenched and unclenched. When he reached the top of Draco’s stomach and could go no lower, Harry nuzzled the red skin with the tip of his nose and trailed his tongue along it back up to Draco’s chest.

“Harry…”

Harry looked up at him, somehow expecting Draco’s eyes to be wet, but they were dry. The only sign that Draco was emotional was the slight trembling of his bottom lip.

“Harry,” Draco repeated, as though that was the only thing he knew how to say, but Harry understood what he wanted well enough.

He took a pink nipple into his mouth and stroked it with his tongue until it hardened. Draco gasped, throwing his head back and muttering appreciatively under his breath as Harry lightly bit the pebbled nub, his other hand rising to pinch the other nipple. Harry could feel the heat rising off of their bodies and Draco’s skin already glimmered with a sheen of sweat in the crimson light of the setting sun. He caught Draco’s eye, the silver dulled with lust and affection, and something quivered in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

Harry turned around, gently pulling Draco with him, so that Harry now lay atop him, chest-to-chest with Draco’s back sinking into the mattress. Harry rolled his hips experimentally, his trousers tightening when he felt Draco’s clothed erection brush his and they both gasped at the discovery. Harry reclaimed Draco’s lips, humming into the kiss when Draco took the initiative to cup his balls through his trousers.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry gasped.

Draco’s fingers continued to expertly rub the sensitive area and Harry could do nothing but push back against them, the tension already building in his gut. Draco’s other hand found his arse and kneaded it pleasurably, letting his fingers occasionally brush the cleft through his trousers.

“Wait,” Harry panted, his mouth falling to Draco’s jaw where he planted some open-mouthed kisses, before he pulled away completely. He already felt close to the edge and he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Draco’s hand mercifully slipped away and Harry found his wand near the side of the bed. He flicked it, muttering a quick Evanesco, and both of their remaining clothes vanished.

“You owe me for those, Potter,” Draco reprimanded, although it was breathless. “Those trousers were tailor conjured.”

“You look better without them,” Harry reassured him distractedly as he stared down at the pale planes of Draco’s abdomen, leading to a flushed and leaking cock.

“That is entirely beside the point,” Draco retorted haughtily, although his voice was a bit breathless and his lust-darkened gaze was flicking down to Harry’s nether regions with much the same intensity.

Harry didn’t reply, he only lowered his head and did what seemed natural. His tongue slid along the salty slit of Draco’s cock and the boy stiffened beneath him, his pale fingers grasping at the sheets. Harry hummed with contentment and wrapped his lips around the head, sliding his tongue along the contours, and reveling in the involuntary sounds that Draco was making. Harry lowered his head, taking in as much of the warm flesh as he possibly could. His hands found Draco’s upper thighs and he caressed the soft, inner skin with his thumbs absently as Draco gasped and bucked upward into his mouth. Harry let him, wanting to see how much he could take, until he pulled back and lowered again. Draco was keening with every pull. One of his hands had buried itself into Harry’s hair, clenching and unclenching within the locks, as Harry’s tongue swirled along his shaft. Harry hummed again, knowing that the vibration in his throat would travel to Draco’s cock, and it twitched in appreciation.

“Harry…!” Draco blurted warningly, but Harry was ready and he hastily relaxed the muscles in his throat.

Draco’s hips jerked upward and a moment later, Harry could taste the cum filling the back of his mouth. He made sure to swallow it all, sucking a bit at the softening, sensitive flesh as Draco trembled and groaned beneath him. When his cock became pliable in his mouth, Harry pulled away completely and wiped at his lips, looking down at Draco who was panting and appearing thoroughly debauched. It was a beautiful sight, and Harry crawled up Draco’s body to settle down against him, meeting his gray gaze.

“How do you feel?” Harry asked, trying to ignore his own hard and leaking erection as Draco’s scar burned against his skin again.

“I need you to fuck me,” Draco panted urgently, and he didn’t give Harry a chance to react before he pulled his head down to kiss him.

Harry knew what he must taste like, but Draco’s tongue only continued to hungrily plunder his mouth, mapping out the inside, before sliding along his. Harry groaned, his hands sliding down Draco’s sides, before he pulled back to settle onto his haunches between Draco’s parted thighs. Draco pulled his legs up in invitation, never breaking eye contact, and Harry shivered with need at the sight. Harry grasped for his wand, which was wedged beneath a fold in the sheets and spoke a quick lubrication charm the moment it was in his hand, slicking his other hand with the oily substance. He pressed a finger against Draco’s dusty entrance, before locking gazes with Draco.

Draco nodded, his eyes dark and breath irregular.

Harry pushed the digit inside the heat and tried not to imagine that around his neglected cock. It was tough as the muscles clenched around his finger and he wriggled it a bit to loosen them.

“More,” Draco panted, his eyes fixed upon Harry’s face. “Faster.”

Harry complied and added another finger, pressing his free hand against Draco’s inner thigh and rubbing the skin with his thumb in soothing circles. The muscles around his fingers loosened in time with the caresses and Harry added another, spreading them with each in and out. Finally, Harry pulled his fingers out and leaned forward, holding one of Draco’s knees against his hip as the tip of his cock pressed at his entrance.

“Please, Harry.”

That did it for him. Harry nearly came right there at the sound of Draco’s voice, but he groaned and bit his lip instead, pressing forward until the incredible heat of Draco surrounded him. Draco gasped and bucked against him, encouraging him to go deep and fast. Harry complied, because he didn’t think he would last long enough to do otherwise. He thrust in and out, angling for that spot that would have Draco writhing with pleasure. Harry’s balls tightened warningly, but mercifully, by the third thrust Draco stiffened and moaned loudly. Harry thrust at the same angle again and the result was the same.

Draco was undone, his eyes closing and his back arching, sweat gleaming enticingly upon his naked skin. Harry closed his eyes, hoping that a lack of visual stimulus would help keep his wavering control in check, but the heat and friction around his aching cock was overwhelming and every time he hit that spot just right, Draco’s muscles clenched perfectly around him.

Harry took hold of Draco’s hardening cock and fisted it as he thrust deep.

“Harry, fuck…Harry…please…yes…oh…Merlin…” Draco babbled, more loquacious than he had ever been before, his kiss-swollen lips panting between words.

Harry’s hand fisted Draco’s erection faster and he grit his teeth against the pleasurable tightening in his gut with every thrust. Harry didn’t think he could hold on much longer, but he could feel Draco was on the brink as well.

“I love you, Draco.” Harry blurted, and he squeezed and slid his hand one last time along Draco’s shaft.

Draco stiffened, his silver eyes locking with Harry’s for one stolen moment, before his entire body shuddered, his back arching even more as he reached his second orgasm. Harry couldn’t hold it anymore as Draco’s muscles tightened around him and he thrust as deeply as he could one last time. He saw white for a moment behind his closed lids before he let go, letting the orgasm take him away as he spilled his release into Draco’s waiting heat.

When Harry surfaced into some semblance of reality again, he was collapsed upon Draco’s pliant body, panting against his pale chest as fingers carded gently through his hair. Harry let his breathing reach a normal pace before he sighed. His whole body felt warm and boneless, but he felt the need to see his partner, so he forced his head to lift a bit so he could look down at Draco’s face.

Draco smiled up at him lazily, his fingers sliding out of Harry’s hair to rest upon his shoulder. Harry couldn’t help smiling back, and gave him a long and languorous kiss.

“That was –” Draco began.

“Brilliant,” Harry supplied. “The best I’ve ever had.”

“Of course,” Draco replied smoothly, a bit of haughtiness edging into his voice. “I was fantastic.”

Harry laughed. “You just laid there, lazy git.”

Draco appeared affronted, but Harry could tell it was for show. “I know. Just imagine if I had actually put some effort into it. You wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Harry replied suggestively.

“That’s a dangerous proposition.” Draco pulled him down into another kiss and Harry smiled against his lips, letting him command it.

They disconnected and gazed at each other. Harry’s heart felt so full, he thought it might burst.

“I’m still in one piece after all,” Draco murmured lowly into the silence.

Harry pulled back to rest on an elbow, sliding to the side so that he could see the scar while his legs stayed tangled with Draco’s. He ran a hand along its length again, the action not nearly as discomfiting as it had been before. “You can’t be broken.”

“So it seems,” Draco noted solemnly and they shared a look full of significance.

Somehow, Harry knew that he would remember this moment for the rest of his life. It was humbling. Draco had shown more trust in him than he’d thought possible and now they were both stronger for it.

“I –” Harry began, but he was cut off by a short rap on the door. “Shit.”

Both he and Draco scrambled to get under the covers, before Harry called out in reply to the person behind the door.

“Y-yes?”

The door opened a crack, before slowly opening until Ron’s head popped in. His eyes locked on the two of them and Harry cringed, self-consciously pulling more of the sheets up over his bare chest.

“Er…” Ron muttered stupidly, his ears beet red to clash badly with his hair. He looked between the two of them and seemed to need the loo, but he sucked in a harsh breath instead. “Mum wants you both down for dinner.”

Harry barely had the chance to nod, before the door slammed shut and he heard Ron practically running back down the stairs. Harry glanced at Draco who turned to look at him. Then Draco smirked. Harry snorted, and soon both of them were laughing so hard they could barely contain themselves.

“I don’t think Ron will be able to eat dinner with us,” Harry gasped, once his laughter abated to a few errant chuckles.

“If his green complexion was anything to go by,” Draco assessed with a poorly hidden smirk. “I think he’ll be spending our meal-time in the loo.”

“That might be best for all of us,” Harry stated and put his head in his hands, feeling his previous embarrassment at the entire situation creep in. “I don’t think I can look at him in the face again.”

“As far as I’m concerned he received a rare treat,” Draco replied. “How many chances will he have to see a naked wizard as handsome and cultured as I am?”

Harry snorted, but his embarrassment faded. “Arrogant prat.”

“You love it.”

“Of course,” Harry replied with a small smile. “We’ve established I’m a masochist.”

“That we did,” Draco smirked, and pecked Harry on the lips.

Harry moved forward to deepen the kiss, but his stomach rumbled traitorously and he was forced to sit back.

“It’s time for dinner,” Draco stated.

“Will you be all right?” Harry asked, concerned as Draco pulled the sheets away to get out of bed.

“I’m fine,” Draco replied, taking in a breath before heaving himself up.

Harry scrambled to help him stand, putting their bodies flush against each other once again, back to front. Draco steadied and Harry couldn’t stop himself from biting and licking the flesh on Draco’s shoulder. Draco sighed and let him move his way up the side of his throat to his jaw. Harry’s hand moved low until it almost reached Draco’s cock, but then the boy stepped out of reach.

“Get ready,” Draco ordered sternly, but he looked amused.

“I am,” Harry quipped, gesturing to his own cock which was already standing at attention.

Draco rolled his eyes, but dropped to his knees and gave Harry a playful look. “I hope they’re not serving appetizers.”

Harry would have replied with something witty, but his breath was stolen by Draco’s talented mouth. So he settled for a smile instead.

No matter how much pain and loss he would have to face in the future, he knew that having Draco beside him would give him the courage he needed to persevere, and in this moment, at least, he was content.

They would both protect each other to the very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> This is an incredibly old fic that I'd originally uploaded onto FFnet before I'd left that site. I'm not sure how well it holds up now. I'd like to think my storytelling abilities have gotten better since, but I know that quite a few readers of the fic wanted to read it again. So here it is. In any event, I really want to thank everyone who has ever read what I've written and enjoyed it. That's the best gift an author of any work can receive. :)
> 
> Btw I'm lampsprite-art on Tumblr. Feel free to follow and/or message me there.


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